


Songs Left Unsung

by themayqueen



Series: Songs Left Unsung [1]
Category: Everybody Else (Band), Hanson (Band)
Genre: Affairs, Alcohol, Bisexual Male Character, Blackmail, Cheating, Divorce, Drinking Games, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Friendship, Gay Sex, Incest, M/M, Marijuana, Miscarriage, Pining, Pregnancy, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 87
Words: 184,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayqueen/pseuds/themayqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only one person in the world knows Zac’s biggest secret — his crush on his older brother Taylor. But that one person, his best friend Carrick, has a secret, too. When Carrick moves to Tulsa, all these secrets will be revealed and Zac’s life will be turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Housewarming

The porch swing is old and rusty, and it creaks loudly when I sit down on it. I'm not sure I trust it to hold my weight, but it's the only seat in sight and I need to rest my legs for a few minutes. With precious little help from my brothers, I've spent the better part of the morning and afternoon cleaning out this house in preparation for his arrival. The old refrigerator we hauled over from our studio has barely cooled my Dr. Pepper, but it's enough.

With a long sigh, I lean my head against the faded wood slats and begin to rock the swing back and forth. It feels a little childish, but I'm okay with that. I glance down at my phone again, hoping for another text, but it's only the same message from nearly two hours ago, telling me that they had just pulled into a rest stop outside of Oklahoma City. From touring with Everybody Else, I knew that Austin was a very slow driver, so they could still be miles away from Tulsa. 

I could still hardly believe I had talked Carrick and Austin into this move. Sure, it was probably temporary. They were only renting this old house, not buying it, after all. But working through the details of signing to 3CG and recording an album in Tulsa would keep them here for a long time. Whenever he had visited for Fools Banquet, Carrick had joked about Tulsa being a town full of hicks. He wasn't the midwestern type, he said. But he was now, whether he liked it or not.

There really hasn't been much in my life to get excited about for a while. Having my best friend – aside from my brothers, of course – living so near me and recording in my studio is definitely worth being a little giddy about. Work is as good as ever; meaning, actually recording and playing was awesome, while the rest was tedious as hell. And home... is just quiet. Even with two babies in the house, the silence is deafening sometimes. I try not to think about that too much.

I finish my Dr. Pepper and stand up to go retrieve a second, and hopefully colder, one from the kitchen when the U-Haul finally rolls up the street, stopping me in my tracks. I raise the hand not holding an empty can high and wave, hoping he sees. The U-Haul slides to a stop in something that vaguely resembles parallel parking, and I don't have to guess who's driving. The drivers' side door flies open and he slithers out of the truck's cab, already looking like he owns Tulsa and sporting a pair of ridiculous pink sunglasses.

“Carrick!” I call out, crushing the soda can in my hands and tossing it aside before rushing down the porch steps to meet him halfway.

He's standing in the middle of the street, which luckily isn't a busy one, just taking it all in when I reach him. He throws both his arms around me and I can't help wrapping mine around him and lifting him up off the ground. The boy weighs next to nothing anyway, so it's not like I'm straining myself. He laughs over my shoulder. “Good to see you too, Zac.”

I set him down and glance around, realizing Austin is nowhere to be seen. Carrick must see the question on my face, because he doesn't even give me a chance to ask. “Oh, I left him at the last gas station with the van. He'll get here when he gets here.”

I finally look Carrick over, as though he might have changed since the last time I saw him, just a few short months ago at SXSW. The decision to sign Everybody Else came that weekend, in a haze of music, alcohol and various other substances. We parted ways on such a huge high over the idea, and then went back to the drudgery of our normal lives – although, admittedly, all the preparation work for such a huge change in the record company kept things from being too dull. 

He looks the same as I remember. Tall, impossibly thin, and dressed like some skater-hipster hybrid. I can't decide if he looks horribly out of place on this street, or if he brings an amazing light to it all that makes everything better than it was before. I'm thinking it's actually a little bit of both. On my second glance over him, I notice a little something tucked behind his ear – beautifully hand rolled in his favorite papers.

I lean in closer to him and lower my voice, even though there's no one around to see or hear. “Carrick-–you, umm. There's a joint behind your ear.”

He chuckles and runs his hand through his hair as though he's forgotten it was there. “Oh, right. I was gonna smoke that somewhere around Amarillo but I decided to wait for you. You know, christen the new house.”

I have to shake my head and laugh at that. Only Carrick would think of that. I clap an arm around his shoulder and pull him toward the house, intent on doing exactly as he suggested. We awkwardly walk up the sidewalk arm in arm, across the porch and into the house. Carrick glances around at the living room, scratching his head.

“Not bad,” he says.

I shrug. The house came with very little furniture, so what's there now is a combination of those old couches and chairs and whatever else I could cobble together thanks to my family's habit of hoarding everything we've ever owned. It's not much, but Carrick's easy going enough to be happy with whatever life hands him. I try to be the same way, but it doesn't always come as easily.

He sinks down into the couch like he's sat on it a thousand times before and beckons me to sit next to him. I shuffle across the room and sit down, glad to rest my legs once again. I lean my head back against the couch cushions and let out a long sigh as I watch Carrick light the joint and take a hit. With a hint of a smirk on his lips, he passes it to me.

It's been a long time since I've smoked. I have a few friends in Tulsa who are more than willing to fulfill my needs, but it's still too much trouble trying to hide it from Kate. It's not exactly fun lying to my wife, so I try to avoid it as much as possible. I don't need any more guilt eating me up inside. When we're on the road, though, I let myself go wild--if getting stoned, playing video games and eating junk food is all that wild.

I have a feeling my drug habit is going to get worse with Carrick living so close, but right now I don't care. I accept the joint as soon as it's offered and bring it to my lips just as quickly. Carrick buys his from some guy who grows it all organically in this little backyard garden-–I fucking love California--and it's so much nicer than the stuff I usually get around Tulsa. It's deceptively smooth but strong, though, and just one hit has me feeling blurry around the edges. 

I pass the joint back to him and watch the way his cheeks go hollow when he takes a drag. We continue the same pattern for a while in silence, just enjoying the weed and each others' company. I can be talkative at times, but sometimes it's nice not to say a thing at all. Carrick gets that, even though I have no doubt there are a million things he's dying to say.

We're about halfway through the joint when he starts fidgeting around and clearing his throat. It's kind of funny to watch, the way he struggles not to speak when it's so obvious that he really wants to. You can almost see the words, like actual, physical things, threatening to burst out of his every pore. 

“So, how are things in T-Town?” He finally asks, chuckling a little at the affectionate name for the town that he's already adopted after so many visits.

It's not a loaded question, but it is. When we talk, it's mostly about music, but sometimes he pushes me to talk about more serious things. I can't hide from him; he always knows when there's something on my mind. The weed doesn't loosen my tongue like it does Taylor, but it does make it easier to say what I feel without over-thinking it.

“Things are alright,” I say, struggling for the words to fully explain just how not alright things actually are.

“Yeah?” He replies, one eyebrow raised. It's enough to let me know he doesn't believe me. He's right not to.

I grab the joint and take a long hit just to buy myself time. Carrick's eyes are on me the entire time-–not judging, just waiting. I hold the smoke in as long as I can, until my eyes are watering and my lungs screaming. When I can hold it no longer, I exhale and return Carrick's stare. “Things aren't really that good. It's awful being stuck here with both of them.”

He nods knowingly. Carrick is the only person who knows my secret, knows who I mean when I talk about the two of them. I think he noticed it on his own before I dared say a word, but he waited for me to trust him enough to talk about it. I was drunk off my ass and scared to death when I admitted to him the deep dark feelings I kept hidden from everyone else, but Carrick took it in stride, like everything else that came his way.

“I bet Kate's really happy about me moving here,” he remarks with a chuckle.

I return his laugh, but not as heartily. Kate can't stand him. It's mostly the weed and the partying that she knows I'm drawn to whenever Carrick's around, but it seems like there's something else. It's like she's jealous of our friendship. Maybe she should be, since in at least one way, he knows me better than anyone else in the world. I manage to give him half a smile. “She'll get over it. It's not up to her, anyway.”

He nods again, but I can see that beneath the jokes he is somewhat bothered by her disapproval. Or maybe he's just bothered by her. The two things are kind of one and the same, anyway. Something flickers in his eyes and I imagine I can actually see his train of thought moving along. His smile is gone completely now. “And how about Taylor?”

I sigh. I knew he would ask; it was my own fault for mentioning both of them in the first place. Taylor was my secret. I didn't trust anyone but Carrick with the truth of my awful feelings for my older brother. It wasn't the kind of thing most people would understand, and I still couldn't really fathom how or why Carrick did. But I didn't take for granted how amazing he was for helping me bear such a heavy load.

“Taylor is... the same as ever. Infuriating. Ridiculous. He's just Taylor.”

How else could I explain something like that? I wasn't supposed to feel the way I did about him. I wasn't supposed to live for his smiles or ache for his touch – though he's never touched me in the way I wanted. It started when we were young, as nothing more than the sort of sibling worship I imagine most kids experience. Taylor was magnificent; he was talented, driven, eternally optimistic, and capable of making anyone fall in love with him with little more than a shy smile.

When I was 11, at the very beginning of all the madness in our lives, I went to Taylor full of questions about girls. He had a girlfriend for the first time and I was jealous, though I'm not sure I knew then whether I was jealous of him or her. Time has erased the conversation itself from my memory, leaving only the one moment that changed everything – when Taylor kissed me. 

We never spoke of it again, because how can you talk about something like that? I knew it was wrong in the same way that I knew lying and stealing were wrong, but it didn't _feel_ wrong. It felt like home. It awoke something in me that I've never been able to satisfy, an ache that no one else but Taylor can ease. 

When I see that Carrick is still staring at me, waiting for me to say something else, I smirk and add, “Oh, and he's renewing his wedding vows soon.”

Carrick sputters and coughs, the hit he was trying to hold in forced out into the air, where it floats away quickly. I pat him on the back softly, and although he recovers quickly from the cough, the shock doesn't leave his eyes. Once he regains his voice, he says, “That had to be Natalie's idea.”

“Of course,” I reply, then add a little more spitefully, “Anything to prove they're still in love.”

If Carrick notices the venom in my voice, he doesn't remark on it. He knows all too well how I feel about Natalie and the marriage she all but forced my brother into, the one he constantly seems to forget he's in. Apparently, four kids and ten years isn't enough for her, and soon they'll be walking down the aisle again. From the outside, I'm sure the ceremony will look romantic and heartfelt, but I'll only be able to see it for the farce it really is.

Carrick lets me have the next hit, giving me plenty of time to savor it before he speaks again. “Are you ever going to tell him how you feel?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No way. Especially not now.”

“I just worry that someday you won't be able to hold it in anymore,” he says, looking thoughtful. “That kind of secret could kill a person.”

I can only offer him a shrug and a grin. It's been killing me for years, eating away at every little bit of happiness I've ever felt. Even when everything else in my life seems perfect, these feelings for Taylor are still gnawing at my mind, refusing to give me any rest. Carrick sees the look on my face and shakes his head when I try to offer him the joint, so I suck in another long hit. My mind is blessedly numb now and very nearly empty. For a while, at least, I'm free of Taylor.


	2. Fake Smiles

After a few days, when Carrick and Austin have finished moving in and getting situated in their rental house, its time to bring them into the office and get them officially started. We flew out to LA to do all the contract signing and boring stuff like that, so they haven't actually seen our new office and studio yet. It's better than the original ones combined, so I'm really proud to show it off. I almost feel like a real businessman, giving someone a fancy official tour, except for the part where I'm wearing ripped jeans and a thrift store t-shirt.

It's a good day for them to come in, too, because we actually have most of the staff in. Things are pretty relaxed around 3CG and most of the employees were friends or family first, so people just sort of come and go as they please unless there's some specific project that needs to be worked on. This is a big year for us in a lot of ways, especially the past few weeks. The office is still somewhat messy from the members event, but I choose to believe it gives the impression that we're actually getting shit done.

Carrick and Austin cruise into the office just a few minutes past the time I was expecting them – practically early by Hanson standards. They both look ridiculously Californian with their long hair, tank tops and sunglasses. I usher them through the various rooms of our maze-like office, introducing them to the staff, even though I know Carrick has met most of them before. 

“So, here's our office,” I say, motioning toward the small room we've somehow managed to cram three desks into. You can clearly see which desk belongs to which brother – Ike's is a mess of papers and god knows what else, Taylor's is covered in empty bottles and Starbucks cups, vinyl dolls and action figures litter mine. Carrick picks up a tiny Han Solo and balances it precariously on his shoulder for the rest of the tour.

At last we come to the most interesting part of the tour: the actual studio. It took us months to find the perfect office space that could also house our studio. The studio has a huge open recording booth so we can record off the floor. It's also handy as a storage space for the ridiculous amount of instruments we've accumulated. Right now, the floor is littered with drums, guitar cases and more than a few paintings. In the middle of it all stands Taylor, coffee cup in one hand and the other hand tapping out a melody on the keyboard. 

I don't feel like I'm up to talking to Taylor today, so I quietly walk Carrick and Austin through to the control booth instead and show them the setup there. Carrick immediately begins geeking out over the equipment. I'm actually worried he may start drooling on the mixing board. Taylor's just goofing around, not actually recording anything, so Carrick starts pressing buttons and really checking things out. That gets Taylor's attention so quickly he sloshes coffee all around as he turns to see who has interrupted his private keyboard time.

He shoots the three of us a confused look at first, and then slowly I can see realization dawn on him. He's forgotten all about Carrick and Austin visiting the studio today, of course. Why would he bother to remember something that really doesn't affect his life? It's not like this is his business too or anything.

With a smile that's too forced to look as casual as he's obviously aiming for, Taylor rushes into the control booth to greet us all. He flings an arm around Carrick, then Austin, like they're all old buddies. And okay, he did meet them first, but it only took one night at Fools Banquet to cement mine and Carrick's friendship. They never hang out unless it's something to do with business, and I can see the way that Carrick's demeanor around Taylor has changed since he learned the truth--which isn't really Taylor's fault, but then again, it kind of is.

With one arm still slung awkwardly around Carrick, he begins walking him around the room, pointing out things I'm sure Carrick has already noticed on his own. But Taylor just has to take control and be the center of attention; I can remember a time when I loved that about him, but now it makes my blood boil. 

I seem to be the only person in the room who's bothered at all, though. Austin leans against the organ, soaking up the grand tour from a safe distance. He can be quiet at times, but when he talks, he makes it count. From the smile forming on his face, I have a feeling he's about to prove my point.

When Taylor finally runs out of steam and circles back around to where Austin and I are standing, he finds his opportunity to break in. “So, Tay, man. Heard you were retying the knot.”

Taylor's eyes roll ever so slightly before he nods. “Yeah, yeah. In just a few weeks. Ten year anniversary, you know.”

“Crazy stuff,” Austin replies, shaking his head. He's the perpetual bachelor, and proud of it. “Bet you didn't have an epic bachelor party the first time around.”

“Well, I was only nineteen...” Taylor's voice sobers a little when he says that and I can see the way he struggles to keep from frowning. The cracks are starting to show, even if he doesn't realize it. I think Natalie does, and I think that's exactly why she wants this second wedding.

Austin isn't phased at all by Taylor's weirdness, or maybe he's just oblivious to it. Either way, he isn't deterred and he continues right on speaking like he hadn't even been interrupted. “We should totally throw you one at our new house. Wouldn't that be great, C?”

Carrick shoots me an apologetic look, so brief that no one else would even notice, but I know what it means. With a smile only slightly more believable than Taylor's, he says, “Sure, we should totally do that. Might as well break the house in with a good party, right?”

Taylor's grin slides a little more to the believable side at that. He's never one to turn down an opportunity to party, and I can imagine he's liking the idea of a party that Natalie will explicitly not be invited to. To say I'm a little cynical about his devotion to their marriage is obviously an understatement. He nods a little, turning the idea around in his mind and no doubt contemplating all the debauchery he could get into before finally replying, “Yeah, let's do it. Next weekend?”

Austin claps an arm around Taylor's shoulder. “Now that's what I'm talking about. I promise you won't regret it. Actually-–I promise you _will_ regret it. But that's how you know it was a good party, right?”

Taylor and Austin walk off together, their heads close. They're co-conspirators now, planning the blowout of the year. It doesn't even matter that Austin knows next to no one in Tulsa or that everyone Taylor knows either is related to him, works for him, or will rat him out to Natalie for whatever trouble he gets himself into. And he will get into trouble. It's just what he does.

Once they're out of earshot, Carrick turns back to me and gives me a sympathetic pout. I'd have to laugh at how he looks if I didn't feel like strangling Taylor. He's not doing anything that horrible, I know. He's just being so... Taylor.

I try to smile at him, and even without seeing it I know it's just as fake as his and Taylor's. Carrick would see right through me anyway, even if I was a perfect actor. Most people can't. In fact, I can lie surprisingly well – so well I sometimes scare myself. But not to Carrick. So I let the smile fall.

“You know you have to come to the party,” he says, but it's not an order. Just an observation.

I nod. “Yeah, I know. It'll be a fucking ball, I'm sure.”

“Our parties usually are,” Carrick says with a genuine smile, which passes quickly. “I'll make sure you have a good time, okay? Get you so stoned you don't even remember Taylor's name.”

“If only that were possible,” I reply under my breath. I don't look up to see if he heard it.

It's not that I don't appreciate Carrick's concern. It can just be a little overbearing sometimes. Most of the time, I can function just fine without feeling like I'm suffocating under the weight of what I feel for Taylor. It's just been a little worse lately, but I'll deal with it like I always do. I don't need Carrick breathing down my neck, constantly giving me these knowing, concerned looks. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have him so close. 

I'm being a brat about it, I know. Carrick is my friend and he cares. I shouldn't take that for granted. It's just strange to have someone so devoted to me and so worried about my feelings – someone who actually knows all of my feelings, that is. Of course there are other people who care about me, in their own ways. But it's different with Carrick. He doesn't have to, but he does and he does a damn good job of it. So I can't stay frustrated with him for long.

When I look back up at him, he's already turned his back to me and begun fiddling with the recording equipment again, probably to give himself an outlet for all that nervous energy again so that he doesn't keep talking. We're usually on the same wavelength, so I'm sure he's sensed that I would much prefer to drop the subject, at least for now.

He turns on the playback for one of our newest demos and starts bopping his head. With the music on, we don't need to talk at all; it perfectly takes the place of words. I settle into a chair and close my eyes, letting the music wash over me. It's even better than a drug, I think, though Carrick might argue the point if I said that out loud.

This perfect, quiet moment doesn't last long, though. Before the first song is finished, the door bursts open and in walk Taylor and Austin, still grinning madly.

“...and Carrick can make the brownies,” Austin says, obviously finishing a longer thought, the rest of which I think I can guess.

Carrick gives me yet another look, and I don't even have the energy to return it. He already knows what I'm thinking anyway, I'm sure. Maybe the party won't be so bad with him there, but I'm not holding my breath.


	3. Truth or Dare

The whole week leading up to the party for Taylor I'm a nervous wreck. I try my best to keep that feeling bottled up inside, though. The only person who really knows is Carrick, and as always, he's not saying a word. The only way I can deal with this is by putting on a fake happy face and throwing myself into the party planning. I might not be a huge party animal, but when Carrick and Austin are around, it's easy to let myself be swept up by the current and just go along with whatever raucous plans they've got.

And their plans for this party are definitely raucous, even though they really don't know that many people here in Tulsa. The guest list for the party is pretty short – just the two bands, even though Ike has already threatened to bow out early for daddy duties, a few of our employees who are more like friends, and a handful of other guys Taylor and I know. I think the supply of alcohol that Austin's bought would actually make a longer list than the guest list.

Somehow, though, the party ends up way bigger than I could have expected. This huge old house fills up with people in no time, leaving me feeling more than a little suffocated. For whatever reason, the house has two kitchens – one upstairs and one downstairs. Most of the party guests are staying downstairs, so I've built myself a little nest in the upstairs kitchen with a plate full of brownies and a white Russian. It's not normally my drink of choice, but I can't argue with Austin's drink mixing abilities. 

I'm perfectly content to sit up there forever, getting just a little fucked up, but of course Carrick won't let that happen. I know before I even see him that the footsteps shuffling down the hallway belong to him. He leans on the door frame and just stares at me, his eyes full of sympathy that I really wish I didn't deserve. 

“Throwing your own little pity party up here?” He asks, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

I don't have it in me to return the smirk, so I just stare down at my drink. I'm not thirsty at all, but I know I'm still too sober for this conversation. I pick the glass up and tilt it back, letting the sickly sweet mixture slide down my throat. Definitely not a drink I would have chosen for myself, but when it's going down this fast, I don't even mind the unmistakable coffee flavor. With the glass a bit lighter, I finally glance back up at Carrick and find that he's a few steps closer than I remembered.

“What are _you_ doing up here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Didn't see you downstairs. Thought I would come make sure you were okay.”

“You don't have to babysit me,” I reply, the words coming out with a lot more venom than I intend. I immediately regret saying it, but Carrick doesn't even flinch.

“I know I don't. And I'm not,” he replies, then turns to the cabinets and begins fishing through them. Somehow, there's even more liquor lurking up here, hidden from the rest of the party. He pulls out two shot glasses and fills them with tequila. “I'm just making you another drink. Helping you relax. If you want.”

I consider his words for a moment, finally coming to the conclusion that it really can't hurt to have another drink or two. I can be an angry drunk sometimes, but the half a plate of brownies I've scarfed down might balance that out. Maybe I can actually have fun tonight. With a small nod, I gulp down the last of the white Russian, slamming the cup down decisively and standing up.

“That's more like it,” Carrick says with another smirk, this one stretching all the way across his face. He hands me a shot glass, keeping the other one for himself.

I match his smirk, or at least I try to, and we clink the shot glasses together. I can feel his eyes on me as I tip mine back and swallow the tequila in one gulp. It burns like hell, and I'm suddenly reminded that I don't like tequila at all, but it's too late to worry about that. When I look back up, Carrick's glass is empty too.

“Feel better now?” He asks, wiping a stray drop of tequila from the corner of his lips.

I wince a little. “Sort of. I'll feel even better after another shot.”

He laughs, already grabbing the bottle to pour a second round. We clink our glasses together again, then tilt our heads back in unison. The second shot goes down much easier, a wonderful warmth beginning to spread through my body. I know my confidence will soon pass, but for the moment I feel like I could take on anything.

Carrick grabs the shot glass out of my hand and slams them both down onto the table. “Okay. You ready to join the party now?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” I reply. The words taste funny in my mouth, and I know I have the alcohol to blame for that. It might not have been a lot, but it went down my throat pretty quickly.

Possibly too quickly, I decide, as I take the first few steps out of the kitchen. I can feel myself pitching to the side a little and I try to casually lean against the door frame in the hopes of playing it off. I can hear Carrick snickering behind me, so I know I haven't succeeded. He places a reassuring hand on my back and gives me a little nudge into the hallway and toward the stairs. That helps me get my sea legs, as it were, and soon we're walking down the stairs together.

I don't know what I'm going to find when we get downstairs. I can already hear voices shouting and music pumping, even through the slight buffer of this weird, semi-enclosed stairwell. I shove open the door at the bottom, possibly a bit harder than I needed to, and take the last few steps into the living room.

“I dare you to kiss the next person who walks in!” A voice that I vaguely recognize as Austin's says just as I step across the threshold.

Everyone is staring at me, their mouths wide open. Finally, Austin breaks out into loud cackles, but everyone else is still staring wordlessly. Carrick collides with my back, his hand against my shoulder blade knocking me forward a bit as I try to figure out exactly what's going on.

Finally, Austin manages to stifle his laughter and adopt an almost serious face. “Taylor, man – you don't have to do it. We can come up with another dare.”

That's the missing puzzle piece I was looking for. I realize now that I've walked right into a game of truth or dare at possibly the worst possible moment. Or the best possible moment. I'm not really sure. I've been dying for this moment for years, except in my imagination Taylor kissed me of his own volition. From the shocked look on his face, I'm certain he's going to take Austin up on the offer for another dare.

“No, I'll do it,” Taylor says, his voice shaking a little. “A dare's a dare, right?”

Everyone's heads snap back around to Taylor, but I'm certain that of everyone, I'm the one most in disbelief. Carrick rubs my back a little, and I realize that Austin is staring at me now. He's waiting for some kind of answer, I guess. I clear my throat, hoping like hell I can manage to sound casual. “Yeah, a dare's a dare.”

Taylor catches my eyes and I think he sees my nervousness. He looks back at Austin and gives him a patented Taylor Hanson smile, the kind to which no one can say no. “How about we do this in the other room? Not in front of all you pervs.”

“No way, man,” Austin replies, shaking his head. “If you're gonna chicken out, just chicken out in front of the whole room.”

Carrick takes a step forward. “Well, what if they have a witness?”

“That works,” Austin says, then gives Taylor a nudge. “Go on. Do it.”

I glance back and forth between Carrick and Taylor, and once again I'm struck by realization. Carrick just volunteered to watch Taylor kiss me. I suddenly regret letting him convince me to down those shots and join the party. None of this would have happened if I had just stayed up there in my own little world, but I had to let Carrick convince me that things would be okay. 

He's still rubbing my back as we walk down the hallway toward the empty bedroom they're using to store instruments. It's reassuring. With Carrick by my side, maybe things will be okay. Even if those _things_ now include Taylor kissing me as a dare. When I remember again that it's just a dare, not his own choice, I start feeling a little ill and I almost can't bring myself to walk into the room. Of course Taylor wouldn't do this if he hadn't been pushed to do it. Sure, he flirts with me. But he flirts with everyone. It doesn't mean he wants to kiss me. If he did, surely he would have done it a long time ago and put me out of my misery.

Someone clears his throat and I realize I'm just staring off into space, while Taylor stands in front of me, his eyes still wide. Carrick is leaning against the closed door, his face unreadable. If he weren't in my way, I think I'd run back out. And I could totally take him in a fight, but maybe not with the way my head is spinning-–or is that the room?

I glance back at Taylor and his face softens a little bit. He clears his throat again. “Zac, you don't have to do this. We can just tell them we did. It's just a stupid dare.”

I shrug. I don't trust myself to use words right now. Anything I might possibly say would only reveal how badly I'm dying to feel Taylor's lips on mine. I can still remember the way they felt all those years ago. A little chapped, but wonderful. He tasted like bubble gum. 

Taylor licks his lips and it makes me shiver. I hope he doesn't notice, but I think he does. He glances down at my lips and steps in a little closer. This time I can't even try to hold back the shiver or hope he doesn't see it. It is what it is, and it's too late to go back. He grabs my upper arm, fingernails digging into both shirt and skin, like he's trying to keep me from running away or punching him or god knows what.

But I don't move an inch. His eyes fall closed as he moves in closer to me, but I keep mine open. I need to see this to believe it's really happening. When our lips finally touch, my legs nearly give out from underneath me. He tastes more like vodka than bubble gum, but I don't care. At first, neither one of us moves at all. We just stand there, lips pressed awkwardly together. A low moan falls on my ears and I honestly don't know which of us it came from. 

That's the breaking point, though, whoever it was. Taylor grabs my arms even tighter, crushing me against his chest, and shoves his tongue past my lips. I can't do anything but let my mouth fall open, allowing him entry. His tongue is rough with me, not exploring my mouth, just devouring it. Recovering what little strength I have left, I grab fistfuls of his hair and shove my tongue back against his, fighting him for dominance.

It's over just as quickly and violently as it began. He lets go of my shirt with such force that I stumble backwards, my shaking hands falling from his hair. My lips are trembling so hard that I don't think I could say a word even if I could think of a single one worth saying.

Taylor's face is completely blank, his eyes lacking their usual twinkle. His mouth twitches a little, then falls into a straight line. “Well. A dare's a dare.”

He turns his back to me before I can reply. But I'm still empty of words appropriate for this situation. Carrick slides out of Taylor's way quickly, and Taylor's out of the room in mere seconds. God only knows what he's going to tell the crowd when he returns to their sordid little game. In my drunken, stunned state, I suddenly remember that Carrick is still there and has witnessed the entire wonderful, awful scene.

I glance at him, and he's pressed against the wall like someone's holding him against it, his eyes wide open. When I catch his eye, his expression falls back into the familiar look of pity, but there's something else behind his eyes that I can't place. My shaking legs somehow carry me across the room until I'm standing right next to Carrick. Without a word, he reaches out an arm to rub my back. I slam my head into the wall in front of me, hoping for a concussion. I don't think I would even mind the memory loss.


	4. Wet Dreams

I don't want to leave this room. Not ever. Maybe I can just move in here; I'm sure eventually Carrick would feel sorry for me and bring me a pillow or something. It'll just be me and the guitars. I could even write some music while I'm holed up in here doing my hermit routine.

But that's all a pathetic fantasy, of course.

I could, however, stay in here for the rest of the night, and right now, that's exactly what I want to do. But Carrick doesn't give me that choice. He does, at least, allow me a few minutes to wallow in self pity and work up a nice headache banging my head against the wall. 

“Come on,” he finally says, his voice somewhere between pleading and placating. He grips my arm ever so lightly, more suggesting the concept of moving toward the door than actually dragging me that way.

Still, I shake my head like a child. “Nope. Not going back out there.”

“Well, I have to at least report in,” he points out. “I was the witness, after all.”

His tone is dry and unreadable. I wonder how we must have looked from his perspective. He's never judged me for this awful crush, but getting a glimpse into my fucked up mind is different than seeing me _actually_ kiss my brother. Isn't it? Despite being, well, me, I don't think I could watch Carrick kiss one of his brothers and not have the urge to be violently ill.

Then again, none of his brothers are Taylor. So it is different.

“Go on,” I say, not meeting Carrick's eyes. “Go tell everyone about how Taylor shoved his tongue down my throat.”

I don't wait for a reply before I shrug his arm off and rush out of the room. Tunnel vision kicks in and I don't notice a single other person as I stomp down the hallway and throw open the door to the stairs. I can feel the old wooden boards trembling under my feet as I make my way back to the second floor, glad to see that it's still empty of other partygoers. There's absolutely no way I could handle being around anyone right now. 

Anyone except my good buddy Jose Cuervo, that is.

The tequila bottle is still sitting on the kitchen counter where Carrick left it, the lid long gone. The shot glasses are there, too, beckoning me. I pour a shot into each one, downing them one right after the other. It doesn't put out the fire inside me; instead, it only serves to ignite my anger further. I abandon the shot glasses entirely, irrationally angry at the little glasses for slowing down the progress of my inebriation, and take large gulps straight from the bottle.

There's a reason I tell people I don't drink. When I do drink, I have no grasp on the concept of limits. Every drink just makes me want another, and I never tell myself no. And with each drink, my already notoriously short fuse grows even shorter. It's just safer for everyone if I stay sober, but right now, I don't really give a fuck.

I want to march back downstairs and punch Taylor in his gorgeous face – both for kissing me and for _stopping_. I want to punch Carrick for letting it all happen, just standing uselessly against the wall while Taylor ripped my heart out and stomped on it. And I want to beat the shit out of myself for always being so weak when it comes to Taylor, for not having the nerve to pull him back to me and unleash fifteen years of pent up sexual frustration.

“Getting drunk by yourself again?” Carrick asks. I didn't even hear him walk in, but out of the corner of my eye I see him leaning nonchalantly against the door frame.

“Fuck you,” I mumble, pulling the tequila bottle to my lips.

Carrick rolls his eyes and I really have to hold myself back. My hands tremble around the neck of the bottle and for a second I consider hurling it at the wall next to Carrick's head. It would certainly wipe that look off his face. His eyes follow my hand and I know he's already anticipated the move. Before I can do anything else, he's crossing the room with a few quick strides and pulling the bottle from my hand.

“I think you've had enough,” he says softly.

I shake my head, but I don't bother trying to grab the bottle back. “If I can still remember kissing Taylor, I have definitely not had enough.”

Carrick sighs. 

“Why the fuck didn't you stop him, anyway? Or me?” I screech, the anger inside me boiling up again when I see how calm Carrick looks. How can he be relaxed right now when my world is crumbling around me? “How could you just let him do that – not only that, but just stand there and watch it, too? What the fuck, Carrick!”

“Would you have preferred me to cause a big scene about it?” Carrick asks, his tone surprisingly even. “I thought it would be easier on you if I played it off like the ridiculous dare it was.”

“It's never easy on me! That's the whole point,” I reply, frustrated with him for being so reasonable. I don't deserve it – don't deserve _him_.

He sighs again, running his hand up and down my forearm. “I know, and I'm sorry. This will blow over, though. You'll be okay.”

I nod softly, glancing down at his hand on my arm. My anger is subsiding now, giving way to nausea. All of that tequila has taken its toll and when I look past my arm I swear I can see the tile floor wobbling and swaying. I have a feeling I'm the one moving, not the floor. I glance back up at Carrick. “I think I should lay down.”

He chuckles softly. “I think you're right. Come on, let's get you into bed. I'll come back and check on you when the party winds down, okay? Shouldn't be much longer.”

I nod, and instantly regret it, as it only sets off another wave of nausea. Carrick wraps his hand loosely around my arm, his other hand coming to rest on the small of my back. Softly, reassuringly, he nudges me toward the door and around the corner to his bedroom. The bed is blessedly close to the door and I fall into it before he can even begin to nudge me in that direction. I'm only vaguely aware of Carrick pulling my shoes off as I fall to my side, my head somehow landing perfectly in the middle of his pillow.

“You can take off your pants on your own, right?” He asks, chuckling a little. “Or leave them on. Whichever.”

I nod my head, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm saying yes to – if that slight head movement was even a yes at all. Whatever it was, it seems to have satisfied Carrick. He gives me one last nod and a weak smile, then walks out of the room. I realize after he's gone that he said something about my pants-–he wants me to take them off? Oh, right. So I can sleep. That's why I'm in bed, after all. Eyes closed, moving on instinct only, I somehow manage to push my jeans down my legs, kicking them toward the foot of the bed.

As soon as my pants are down, I lunge for the covers, pulling them up over my legs. I'm not cold, and I know there's no one there to see me in my boxer briefs, but I can't help the twinge of embarrassment that sweeps over me. Maybe it's because I've been half hard ever since Taylor's lips met mine. Yeah, I hope Carrick doesn't notice that when he gets back. A voice – a really, really stupid voice – in my head says I should take care of it before he does.

But no. That's a horrible idea. Still, I can't deny that just thinking about how annoyingly turned on I am is only turning me on more. I try to think about anything but Taylor's lips and hands and hair, but my brain floods with those fresh memories. I shove my hips down into the mattress and groan, willing my dick to just _stop_. 

I'm halfway between awake and asleep, my mind full of images of Taylor's beautiful mouth wrapped around my dick, when I feel the mattress dip under someone's weight. I don't dare open my eyes; instead, I will my breathing to still and hope that I can convince him I'm already sleep.

“I know you're awake.”

Well, fuck.

Carrick nudges my shoulder. “Come on, man. You're hogging the whole bed. Not cool.”

I roll over onto my side, still clutching the covers tightly to my body, hoping like hell that Carrick doesn't see what's happening in my underwear right now. Opening my eyes slowly, I see that he's stripped down to a thin pair of boxers and a wife beater. 

He yanks the covers out of my hands and curls up under them, his leg barely brushing against mine. It's a small bed, so even if I backed all the way against the wall, I'd still feel him next to me. But he seems perfectly at ease, his head falling back against the pillow and his eyes fluttering shut. I turn my back to him, still clinging to a small patch of the blanket like a safety net.

“Goodnight, Zac.”

As much as I'm not at all at ease with Carrick here, all the alcohol in my bloodstream lulls me back into that half-asleep state soon enough. In dreamland once again, my sordid fantasies take over. I see myself pushing Taylor against the wall. Sinking my teeth into his long neck. Turning him around and shoving his face against the plaster as I grind against him. 

The dreams are vivid. Too vivid. I can actually _feel_ my fingernails sinking into the flesh of someone's hip, my painfully hard dick straining against the fabric of my underwear, rubbing against-–

Carrick. I'm grinding on _Carrick_.

My eyes fly open to find that somehow, in my sleep, we've both rolled around so that my front is pressed up against his back. I slam my eyes shut again and force myself to be completely still. Maybe he's asleep. Maybe he hasn't noticed. But as soon as I stop, I feel it.

He presses back against me, rubbing his ass against my dick. It's a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, and it's easy to convince myself that he doesn't even know he's done it. Until it happens again. And again. The third time, I can't even stop a soft moan from falling out of my mouth. It seems to echo in the room around us, and Carrick freezes.

I turn around quickly, hoping he'll think I was still asleep. I know it's a ridiculous, futile thing to wish for. How can I even tell him what happened? _Sorry, didn't mean to dry hump you. I was having a wet dream about Taylor._ Yeah, he probably already knows that, but to actually vocalize it would be possibly even more shameful than the knowledge that he witnessed that kiss. 

That kiss. As soon as I think about it again, I can feel my dick pulsing, practically begging for me to wrap my hand around it. But there's no way I can do that now, with Carrick pressed up against my back. Wait – how long has he been _there_? 

Before I can fully process that change, I feel his hand creeping around my hip, coming to rest on my dick. My hips seem to thrust all on their own, forcing me into his hand. I feel absolutely pathetic, so completely at the mercy of my desires that I can't even stop myself from reacting to Carrick's touch. His hand snakes its way into my underwear, wrapping tightly around my length and stroking. This time, I don't even try to fight the moan.

Carrick doesn't make a sound, though. But his actions are speaking loud enough. He's grinding against my ass now, matching the slow but deliberate pace he's using on my dick. It doesn't matter that he's going so slow, though. I was already so close that I think he could probably just _hold_ my dick and I'd be coming all over his hand in a matter of minutes. As it is, I don't think I'm going to last that long.

I don't dare moan or call his name or anything. I just grind back against him, pleasantly surprised at the way it makes his breath hitch. My own breath is practically non-existent; I'm too terrified of this moment ending to even let myself exhale. Only when I feel myself falling over the edge, red and yellow fireworks forming behind my eyes, do I let that breath out. It comes out, instead, as a pathetic whimper, matched by a low moan from Carrick. 

He pulls his hand back and I'm sure it's a sticky mess, but he's grinding even harder against my ass, his cock pressing right between my cheeks, so I guess he doesn't mind. He moans again and I don't need to look over my shoulder to identify the slurping noise that accompanies his moan. So much for that sticky mess, I suppose. Carrick thrusts against me again, and I can feel his dick pulsing through the thin fabric of his boxers. He grasps my hip, holding our bodies tightly together, but not moving.

Then he's gone.

Not just gone from my back, but gone from the bed. I lay there in stunned silence, not even opening my eyes as I hear his footsteps down the hall. A door-–sounds like the bathroom, I think-–slams shut. Finally, I let myself breath again. 

Moments pass by, feeling more like centuries, before Carrick finally returns to bed. He lays close to me, but not touching. I can still feel his body heat on me, though, and the comforting warmth of it lulls me to sleep once again. My mind is blissfully free of Taylor for once as I drift away to sleep.


	5. Soy Bacon

I wake up to the unmistakable feeling of a strange bed. It's a feeling I know all too well; I've spent most of my life sleeping in strange beds. During the first few years we were famous, I insisted on carrying my own blanket and quilt everywhere, just to make the endless hotel beds feel a little less wrong. Now it's more remarkable to actually wake up in my own bed, on my own ridiculously expensive sheets. 

These particular sheets don't feel remotely like mine, and I can already tell I'm all alone in what appears to be a much smaller bed than the one I share with Kate. There's sunlight streaming in a large window, blinding me even though I haven't found the energy to open my eyes yet, but I'm curious enough to brave the pain.

Carrick's bed.

Somehow, that explains everything and confuses me even more at the same time.

The stale smell of liquor seems to linger in the air around me. I rack my brain to try to call up the events of the night before, hoping that I haven't totally drowned them in whatever it was I drank. The first memory that comes rushing back brings a wave of nausea with it. It's so fresh in my mind that I can practically still taste Taylor's lips and feel his hands pulling me to him. But the most vivid part is the blank look on his face before he turned and walked away from me. 

For a moment, I clutch at the sheets, my nails digging into the mattress. I have to find some kind of purchase, something to anchor myself. The nausea doesn't pass completely, but I suppose I have the liquor to blame for that. Slowly, cautiously, I pull myself up to a sitting position and scan the room for my pants. I don't even remember taking them off, but there they are, dangling off the foot of the bed. I wiggle my way back into them, then stuff my feet into the shoes I see laying haphazardly beside the bed. 

I don't know what time it is, but the house is eerily quiet. With wobbly legs, I make my way into the hallway and scan the kitchen. Empty. The same goes for Austin's bedroom and the bathroom. With no other choice that I can see, I guess I've got to brave the first floor and see what lurks there to remind me of the night before.

When I shove open the stairway door, I don't know what I'm expecting to find. Some kind of proof that the party really happened, I guess. The stale smell of liquor, beer and weed still lurks around, as do plenty of empty bottles, cans and glasses. An abandoned plate of brownies sits on the coffee table, and I'm tempted to grab a few for the road. From the downstairs kitchen comes the distinct smell of breakfast being fried. I turn the corner and head that way, no longer concerned with the brownies.

“Good morning, starshine,” Carrick says, not even glancing over his shoulder at me. I guess I'm the only party guest who spent the night. “You're just in time for breakfast – although I use the term 'breakfast' loosely, given that it's past noon.”

I attempt to chuckle, but I can't quite find my voice yet. It's never the prettiest sound in the morning, anyway, and the combination of drinking myself silly and kissing my brother seems to have rendered me mute. Not feeling up to facing the world totally sober, I grab a beer from the fridge and collapse into a waiting chair at the table. 

I sip the beer slowly, not certain that my stomach is on board for what my brain has planned. I've barely lightened the can at all when Carrick walks over, a plate of food in hand. He passes it to me, our hands barely brushing. My stomach ties itself in knots at the feel of it and I find I can't even lift my eyes to look at him. Head down, I manage to croak out, “Thanks for cooking.”

I stare down at the plate, whatever appetite I thought I might have had completely drained out of me. That subtle touch of Carrick's hand let loose another round of memories in my mind. But these memories weren't about Taylor. They were about _Carrick_. I want to believe my mind was only playing tricks on me, the booze and weed planting false memories, but I know the memories are real. I had really dry humped Carrick in my sleep, and rather than teasing me or freaking out or any normal reaction, he had dry humped me right back and jerked me off. 

What the actual fuck?

Slowly, cautiously, I lift my head to look at Carrick. His back is turned to me, his fingers tapping out some melody on the counter as he waits for his bagels to toast. I try to find, somehow, some hint that he remembers what we did, some sign that he is as confused by it as I was. I knew he was bisexual; at least that little fact wasn't a surprise. But knowing that didn't help me to make sense of why he would interpret my drunken sleep humping as a sign that I wanted him to touch me.

And I _hadn't_ wanted it. At least, not until it was happening. I was so worked up, though, so drunk and high and screwed up over Taylor, that any touch at all would have sent me reeling. It didn't have to be Carrick. But it was. My best fucking friend had jerked me off, and now he was cooking me breakfast.

“Bagel?” He asks nonchalantly, spinning around and holding two of them up.

I nod, even though I haven't managed to touch the food that's already on my plate. Carrick grins, tosses both bagels onto his own plate and joins me at the table. He swipes my beer and gulps half of it down, keeping it and instead handing me back a toasted bagel. Doesn't seem like a fair trade to me.

Carrick shoves forkfuls of the fried eggs and bacon onto his bagel and stuffs it into his mouth. I don't know where he puts all of it, but I swear the boy eats more than I do. I can't do more than pick at the bagel until I finally get up the nerve to try a little bacon.

“Soy bacon?” I ask, forcing myself to chew it.

He chuckles around his own mouthful of it, nodding. “Sorry man. Still trying to do the vegetarian thing, even though Austin gave it up. There might be some actual sausage in the fridge, if you feel like trying it.”

“No, this is okay,” I reply, shaking my head. It's definitely not okay, but it's way better than trying to eat sausage in front of Carrick with a straight face right now.

A tiny smirk plays at the corner of his lips, then falls away quickly. That tells me two things I was too afraid to ask. One, he's thinking the same thing about the sausage. And two, he remembers last night, too. I choke down more of the bagel and eggs, stuffing my mouth so full that there's no physical way for me to ask him _what the fuck_.

I finish as much of the meal as I can possibly stomach, then reach for the can of beer, hoping it's not empty yet. Carrick reaches for it at the same time and our fingers end up tangled together around it. I can feel blood rushing to my face and eggs churning in my stomach. My eyes are stuck on the image of our hands together, Carrick's long fingers wrapped around--

“So, last night?”

I meet his eyes slowly, hoping I can play dumb, but knowing that never works with him. He always sees right through any kind of act I try. Still, it can't actually hurt to try. “What about it?”

“We got pretty trashed, huh?” Carrick asks. 

The question is deliberately vague, I decide, and I figure it's best that my reply be the same. “Yeah... I don't even remember how much I drank.”

“Half of my most expensive bottle of tequila.”

“Oh,” I reply, sheepishly. I can still recall the razor's edge I rested on, torn between rage and drunken oblivion. “Sorry about that.”

He shrugs. “It's no big deal. If I was in your position, I'd need to get shitfaced, too.”

“But you're not in my position,” I reply, not even caring how childlike and pathetic I sound.

“Doesn't mean I can't relate, in some way,” he says. 

His tone is light, but somehow I can tell there's something lurking underneath the surface – something he's forcing himself not to say. I'm still biting back my own words as well, swallowing all the questions I long to hurl at him. 

“So, how much do you remember?” He asks, and the weight he gives it lets me know that he knows it's the million dollar question.

I've got several choices here, and I stuff my mouth full of that fucking soy bacon just so that I have time to consider them. I could tell him I remember what we did. But then what? It's pointless to say I didn't like it; the way I came in his hand kind of disproves that statement. Do I tell him it meant nothing? Do I ask what it meant to him? There are just too many open ended questions, too many scary, scary questions, if I go down that path. So I choose the easy way out instead.

“After the tequila? Not a thing.”

Carrick nods. “Good. So you slept well?”

I nod. And that's not a lie at all. I slept the best I have in weeks, maybe even months. We've been on and off the road for so long, and this thing with Taylor has only been building to a fever pitch. Sometimes even the bowl I smoke after every concert isn't enough to bring me down and let me rest. But with Carrick, I slept peacefully. I don't know whether it was him, the weed, the tequila or a combination of all three, but it worked. 

Carrick downs the rest of our shared beer and leans back in his chair. He looks so fucking calm; he's always chill, so that's nothing new, but right now it's pissing me off. I know he remembers, so why isn't he reacting? He usually knows me so well. He should know that this is a huge deal and I'm not in any way equipped to deal with it, let alone act like it was perfectly normal. But that's exactly what he's doing. Just how fucking often does he jerk off his friends, anyway?

I push back my plate, even though there's still half a bagel and several slices of that goddamn bacon left. I clear my throat, staring off into the distance just past Carrick's shoulder. “I should probably get going.”

He nods. “See you Monday, man.”

And that's it. No personal goodbye more fitting of our friendship. Nothing at all. 

I stand up and stride out of the room hesitantly, giving him a chance to say something else, but he doesn't. I stuff my hands into my pockets and, amazingly, find that my wallet and keys are still there. My cell phone is nowhere to be found, but I don't have the patience to stick around and search for it. In seconds, I'm down the hallway and swinging the back door open. 

There's a decent sized backyard behind the house and a private little alley that's just barely big enough to hold the band's van and my truck. I step up into my truck and slip the key into the ignition, letting the air conditioning wash over me and cool my rising anger. From the cup holder, my phone buzzes at me, alerting me to a barrage of new messages.

I don't have to guess who they're from, and I don't listen to a single one of them.

The drive back to my house gives me precious little time to even my mood out. There's absolutely no way in hell I can explain to Kate what's going on in my mind, and judging by the way my phone is still imploring me to check my messages, she's looking for an explanation. I told her I would probably spend the night at Carrick and Austin's, although I had planned to cash out on their couch, where I most definitely would not have gotten a hand job from anyone other than myself. But even that, apparently, wasn't good enough for her.

I ease my truck into our driveway and reluctantly walk into the house. I'm plotting dozens of different ways to explain to her why I smell like alcohol and weed – as if she doesn't already know – and why I didn't come home until the afternoon. But realistically, I know that no excuses I've got will be good enough. This will still end up on the list of all my failures.

I tiptoe into the kitchen, my ears alert for any sound, but hearing none. The babies must be napping. And Kate? I have no clue where she is. I don't keep tabs on her the way she does me. Still not in any hurry to face her, I creep to the refrigerator and pull out a soda. Soft footsteps behind me alert me to Kate's presence, and I spin around slowly.

“Zac, we need to talk.”


	6. Alone

I have to replay those words in my mind just to be sure I've heard her right. Kate never wants to talk to me. Okay, that sounds bad, and I guess it is. But we've just fallen into this routine where it's easier if we only talk about the things we have to – the kids, the band, what we need from the grocery store–-and ignore all the big stuff that seems missing or wrong.

I guess she's tired of ignoring that stuff, though.

Hesitantly, my voice still gravely and not back to full capacity, I say, “Okay, let's talk.”

She steps in closer to me and sniffs the air around me. I hope she only smells the tequila and weed and not the subtle hint of sex that _has_ to be lingering somewhere on my skin. The rest of it, I can explain, even if she doesn't like the answer. But telling her about Carrick giving me a hand job would probably be the last nail in the coffin of our marriage.

“You stink,” she finally says.

“Love you, too,” I reply. It's a curse, really, the sarcasm. Every time I'm faced with an argument, I fall back onto petty insults and sarcasm. Usually, Kate can give as good as she gets, though.

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously it didn't take you so long to get home because you stopped to shower.”

“Carrick made breakfast,” I say. 

I don't even know why I think that explains how late I was getting home, but the words just seem to tumble out of my mouth completely unplanned. I don't miss the way that Kate winces a little when I say his name – if she only knew. 

“You're not going to do this with him every weekend, are you?”

She means the drinking and smoking, I know. But that doesn't stop my mind from flashing back to the feeling of my cock against Carrick's ass, then his against mine, then his fist around me and – no. Definitely not doing that every weekend. Even if it did feel really good. And the kissing Taylor thing? Yeah. Not doing that again either, judging by the way Taylor ran from it.

But she doesn't mean either of those things and now she's staring at me like I've just grown an extra head. I clear my throat and hope like hell I'm not drooling or something, and say, “No, not every weekend. That was just a party for Taylor. You knew that.”

“But it will happen again,” Kate remarks, crossing her arms. “You know it will. There are always going to be parties with those guys around.”

I don't like the way she says _those guys_. She's always made it pretty clear that she doesn't like Carrick or Austin-–especially Carrick-–but this time it makes my blood boil more than every before. Sure, she's my wife. But that doesn't mean she can pick my friends for me, and I know that's exactly what she's trying to do. I won't stand for it. “Yeah, there will be more parties. And I'll go to those, too.”

“Will you?”

It almost sounds like a dare. If there's one person who knows how to push my buttons even more than Taylor, it's Kate. “Yes. I will.”

“Have it your way, then.”

She throws her arms up in the air and walks away, and I'm left reeling, trying to figure out if I've actually won this fight. More than that, I'm left wondering if it even was a fight. It isn't often that we actually have those, and when we do, they tend to consist more of silence than words. Eventually, not speaking becomes enough of an inconvenience that one of us relents and the fight is over without a clear winner.

This feels different, and I can't quite put my finger on how.

It doesn't matter, though, because in seconds she's out of the room. I gulp down the rest of my soda, just because I can't think of anything better to do. I should chase Kate down and try to smooth things over, I know. But I won't. What's the point? Carrick isn't just my friend now; he technically works for me. I'm going to see him, whether she wants me to or not.

I start down the hallway, determined to tell Kate just that, but my confidence leaves me when I see her heading toward me, rolling a small suitcase behind her. My voice threatens to leave me again. “Where are you going?”

“If you'd checked your messages,” she says, shoving past me, “or not gotten so drunk last night, you might remember that I'm going out of town with Natalie for a few days before the vow renewal, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I reply, and I do vaguely recall something about that, even though I've done my best to stay ignorant of all the planning involved in this stupid ceremony. It's just easier that way.

She doesn't even look back over her shoulder as she continues, “In fact, I was supposed to be at her house already, but I had to wait for someone to finally decide to come home.”

It takes every bit of self control I can muster not to roll my eyes at that. I don't even know why I bother not to, since she can't see it. Maybe I'm just trying to prove to myself, after last night, that I do in fact have some self control left. If only I could aim it at people other than my wife. 

“Well, I'm home now.”

So much for self control, I guess. Even as they left my mouth, I knew those were exactly the wrong words. It didn't even matter that I said them completely monotone, without my usual sarcasm. Kate's shoulders twitch and I can see her fighting the urge to turn around and hurl a barrage of angry words at me. Instead she turns slowly, calmly, and says, “So you are.”

She turns and walks into Junia's room then and I know the argument is over at least for the moment. That's the one unspoken rule we have. No fighting in front of the kids. It's one of many things we learned _not_ to do because of Taylor and Natalie. So, even though this fight has been far calmer and lower volume than most of them, I know it's still on pause for the time being. I turn the opposite direction and walk downstairs, making myself as comfortable as possible-–which isn't very at all–-on the couch while I wait for her to return.

A few minutes later she walks by with her suitcase in tow, walking past me as though I'm not even there. I can't say that I really mind. She's out the front door without even another look at me, but I'm not surprised when she returns a few seconds later. I knew she would never just leave with an unfinished argument still hanging over our heads. She'd never be able to enjoy her girly weekend that way.

I don't even know what they're going to _do_ all weekend with Natalie's mom and no kids around. Something to do with dresses and flowers and all that jazz. All the wedding decoration bullshit that got thrown together at the last minute the first time around, I guess. After all, the big day is only two weeks away. God, it makes me sick just to think about it.

“Are you even listening to me?” Kate snaps.

No. Not one word, in fact. 

“I didn't think so.”

I sigh. “Start over again, please?”

She sighs too, but since I said please and wasn't sarcastic, she relents. It's almost too easy to manipulate her sometimes; yet I rarely seem to use that to my advantage. In this moment, though, it definitely works and Kate actually seems to grow the tiniest bit more patient with me as she repeats. “I said, I'm only going to be gone until Monday evening. There's plenty of food already prepared and in the fridge so you don't need to worry about all of that. You can handle the kids for a few days, right?”

“Yes,” I reply, still trying to appease her. “I'll feed them, bathe them, put them to sleep on time, and take them over to Mom and Dad's before I go into the studio Monday.”

The words come falling out of my mouth before I can think about what _going to the studio_ will really entail. It means seeing not only Taylor but Carrick again. I hope Kate doesn't see the subtle change in my demeanor, but I don't know how she could possibly miss it.

Despite missing some very important things – like how I'd love to fuck my brother's brains out – Kate is pretty perceptive. So of course she notices the way my entire mood shifts the second the word _studio_ leaves my lips. And of course she immediately jumps to the most logical conclusion.

“You're going to see Carrick at the studio, aren't you?”

I nod, my mouth suddenly to dry to even form three whole letters.

“I think it's best if that's the only place you see him.”

Once again, my mouth is too dry to even form a single letter. It's one of those moments where I know I've heard her correctly, but I still have to repeat the sentence in my mind over and over to turn it from meaningless gibberish to actual words. Once I do, I'm still shocked. Another unspoken rule of our marriage is that we don't tell each other what we can and can't do. Even though I know she disapproves of Carrick, I didn't ever think she would ever go as far as to tell me not to see him.

The only problem is that right now, that's exactly what I want. To just never see him again. It was absolute torture to sit across from him this morning like nothing at all had happened. So I find myself nodding and telling Kate, “Okay. No more parties.”

Kate nods curtly, her lips turning up in this smug smile that makes me almost regret agreeing to her ridiculous demand. But she's said a quick goodbye, pecked me on the cheek, and walked out the door before I actually grow a big enough pair to tell her she can shove her demands up her ass. Like I could _ever_ grow a pair big enough to say that. 

Once she's gone, the house is horribly quiet. Shep and Junia won't be asleep much longer, I'm sure. Soon they'll be awake and begging for the before dinner snacks I'm sure I'm not supposed to give them. But I will anyway, because I'm a bad father like that. I'll let them have ice cream for desert, too. I'll even let Shepherd stay up late playing video games with me if he swears not to tell his mommy. 

And then I'll stay up even later, drinking the entire contents of my liquor cabinet and killing zombies until the screen turns to a giant blur. 

It's going to be a miserable rest of the weekend; I have no doubt of that. Even with my kids here, I'm going to be horrible, painfully alone. The worst part is that I know it won't even end after the weekend has. When I go back into the studio Monday, I won't even be able to show my face to Taylor. There's no way. And Carrick? The distance I know have to put between the two of us will be even worse, because I'll be losing my other best friend and the only person who I could talk to about Taylor.

I'll be forced to deal with not only Taylor, but now Carrick, all on my own. That thought alone is enough to send me running to the liquor cabinet already, even though it's only barely the afternoon.

If I have to be alone, I might as well be drunk, too.


	7. Demos

The weekend goes by far too quickly, in a haze of video games, chocolate ice cream and just enough bourbon to keep me from thinking about Taylor or Carrick. When Monday morning rolls around, and it does long before I'm prepared for it, I have to fix myself a big pot of coffee before I can even begin to think about going into the studio. And I don't even like coffee.

Just as I told Kate, I drop the kids off at my parents' house on my way into town. Much to my relief, Shepherd is dragging them off to play a game before Mom has a chance to make small talk about the upcoming nuptials or the record company or anything else that could possibly be awkward. But of course, just because I don't have to talk about it, doesn't mean it isn't going to be awkward.

Since I'm dragging my feet and driving as slow as I possibly can, I make it into the studio several minutes later than we had all agreed to start work that day. That's not exactly anything weird or even remarkable, though, and I don't think anyone even notices that I'm late. 

As soon as I open the office door, a wall of noise hits me. I can hear some of our newest demos playing, and a quick peek into our office reveals Isaac and Austin huddled around a laptop. A few of our other employees are milling about, but no one even seems to notice me. I'm not complaining, though. Maybe if things are this busy in the office, my complete mental breakdown will slip by unnoticed.

The studio door is wide open, and even before I've made it down the hallway I can tell who it is. Someone's playing the drums and-–not to sound conceited-–nowhere near as well as I do. Someone else is strumming a bass lazily, not really even trying to match whatever beat the drummer thinks he's playing. When I reach the doorway, I see that my guess was right–-Taylor and Carrick. The two people I didn't want to see right now.

I stand silently in the doorway, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Taylor glances up at me and falters for a second, one drumstick nearly falling out of his hand. If I didn't know better, I would say he looks scared. But that's ridiculous. Why would Taylor be scared of me? Whatever the problem is, he loses the tempo enough to catch Carrick's attention. 

Carrick spins around, flipping his hair back out of his eyes and says, “What's going – oh. Hey, Zac.”

Something about the way he says my voice sends a chill up my spine. I don't like it. I rake my hand through my hair and try to focus on a spot just over Carrick's shoulder. “H-hey. What were you guys playing?”

“Nothing in particular,” Carrick replies, and I could swear he's avoiding my eyes as well.

“Yeah, we were just messing around,” Taylor says, standing up and setting the drumsticks down. “But there was something I wanted to play for you, now that you're here. Just something I've been working on.”

I frown. Taylor's been working on something without the rest of us? That's not unprecedented, but it does make me wonder why he hasn't mentioned it before. There's something weird in his eyes–-the same, strange blank look he had before he walked out on me at Carrick and Austin's house. I don't know what it means, but I still find myself saying, “Okay. Let's go listen to it, then.”

Taylor gives Carrick a small nod, which Carrick barely returns, then begins walking toward the control booth with long, quick strides. I don't give Carrick a nod or even a look at all before following behind Taylor. 

When I enter the room, Taylor's leaning over the control board, pulling down the shade on the large window that looks into the studio. Part of my brain wants to ask what he's doing, but the other part is too busy staring at his ass to even attempt coherent speech. I'm still staring when he turns around, and I don't glance up soon enough to avoid giving myself away. 

He doesn't comment on it, though. He never does, even though I know he's caught me staring a million times over the years.

Taylor walks right past me and for a second I think he's just going to walk out and leave me standing there like an idiot. But he doesn't. He reaches behind my back, leaning in so close our chests barely touch, and locks the door. The room is so quiet that the little click seems to echo for ages. Taylor's scent and the warmth of his body linger on me even though he's gone in seconds, rushing back to the control board and turning on the playback. It's not a new song at all; I've heard this demo time and time again over the last few weeks. It doesn't even sound like Taylor's added anything new to it.

“Tay, what's this all--” I begin to say, but my words are drowned out by the loud music and the sudden crash of Taylor's lips against mine.

He doesn't taste like vodka or bubble gum this time-–just like Taylor and maybe a hint of coffee. I'm too stunned at first to even kiss him back, but that doesn't last long. He has me pinned against the door, his hands on my shoulders with a strength I always forget he has, and I can't even raise my arms to touch like him I want. This time I want to be sure he doesn't run away, but all I can do is moan pathetically when he nibbles on my bottom lip.

I don't understand why this is happening at all, but god, I don't want it to ever stop. It does, though. Taylor pulls back from the kiss and trails his hands down my chest as he falls to his knees. It's the sort of dramatic, overly rehearsed move that only Taylor could pull off, but I don't mind at all. My body is still pressed tightly against the door, every nerve ending tingling and my dick is hard as can be. I let out of a loud sigh of relief when Taylor unbuttons, unzips and shoves my pants and underwear down all in one seamless move.

“Taylor,” some stupid rational part of my brain says, but I manage to shut it up before it points out that we're in the middle of our office, mere feet away from Carrick, and my dick is-–

In Taylor's mouth. 

I know he's done this before, and I really, really don't want to think about that right now. In one move, he's got every inch of me in his mouth. His tongue is doing something I can't even begin to describe and I really want to push his hair out of the way so I can watch, but my arms don't seem to get the message to move. 

Taylor's absolutely focused on the task at hand-–er, mouth. He's sucking me like his life depended on it, his head bobbing up and down quickly. My dick bumps against the back of his throat and he moans so loudly that I swear I can feel the vibrations all the way down to my toes. 

I wish this could last forever. I really fucking do. But my body is a bastard and Taylor is just way, way too good at this. When he presses his tongue against my slit, I can't stop my hips from rolling forward, forcing him to take me back into his mouth. He doesn't seem to mind, though. And when he cups my balls in his hand, I know the end is near. I can't even fight it.

If it weren't the least of my problems right now, I'd be really bothered by the fact that I've suddenly got all the self control of a fourteen year old virgin.

“Tay.” I want to tell him I'm about to come, but I can't get my mouth to form the words. I think he already knows, though, so I settle for repeating his name over and over as I shoot my load down his throat. 

He swallows every single drop, not even flinching as my hips thrust against his mouth. He pulls back and glances up at me, eyes still vacant, as he licks his lips clean. One last, pathetic shudder runs through my body as I watch him. His eyes are away from me so quickly it's like they were never there and then he's standing up and walking back to the control board. When he turns the music off, the silence that follows is twice as loud as the song was.

My arms finally decide to move again and I've just barely shoved my dick back into my pants when Taylor turns around again. He closes the distance between us quickly, grabbing my hair and pulling my mouth to his. I can taste myself on his lips but I don't care. Taylor ends the kiss far sooner than I'd like, though, and reaches behind me again to unlock the door. 

I scoot to the side, letting him pass by me and out the door without a word. The door slams shut behind him and the sound makes me jump. My body is still on edge, even though it's all over now. I have to stand there, my back pressed against the wall, and let my breathing slow down before I can even think about walking back into the studio.

It doesn't matter how long I wait, I'm still shaking like a leaf and I know I probably look like... well, I have no clue, but it can't possibly be pretty. No matter what, I can't stay in the control booth forever. Taking one last, long breath, I open the door and walk back out into the studio.

It's empty.

Carrick's bass is leaning haphazardly against an amp, its owner nowhere to be found. I walk up and down the hallways and peek into every door, but he's nowhere. Finally, I step into the main office area, where Isaac and Austin are still crowded around one laptop, while Taylor sits off in a corner at his own computer. He doesn't even look up at me. 

I clear my throat. “Have you guys seen Carrick?”

My voice still sounds breathless and just terrified, but none of them even bat an eye. With less than half a glance in my direction, Austin says, “I think he went home. Said he needed a smoke break.”

I nod and wander off to find a quiet, empty corner where I can sulk. My mind is reeling and I have absolutely no clue what to do or what to even _think_. As much as I wanted to avoid Carrick, he's the only person I could possibly talk to about what just happened. But he's not here. 

I was wrong. I can't avoid Carrick, no matter how much Kate wants me to. I need him. Somehow, I've got to figure out how to explain that to him. If I don't, I think Taylor might finally drive me completely insane.


	8. Creeper

I honestly can't remember a more miserable day spent in the studio since the months before we went independent. Even then, I still had someone to talk to, someone to help me get through it all. But now I'm stuck in the office, listening to Carrick and Austin's demos, while Carrick is apparently hiding from me.

It's funny; I started today wanting to avoid Carrick at all costs, but now he's the one person I want to talk to. I can't even make eye contact with Taylor for the rest of the day, not even when he leans over my shoulder to look at the computer and his breath makes the hairs on my neck stand up. Any day before today, I would have thought Taylor had no clue the effect he was having. Now I know he does, yet I'm more confused than ever.

We work late into the afternoon, until Taylor checks his watch and informs us that he has to go pick up the kids from school. Natalie and Kate won't be home until later that evening, so Taylor's still on daddy duty. I think he's pretty happy to have an excuse to leave early, though, and I'm definitely not complaining, either. Austin decides to stick around for a while and play with some of the guitar tracks he's been working on, which gives me the perfect opportunity to go to their house and see if I can talk to Carrick.

I don't know if he'll talk to me, and I'm still not sure why I want to talk to him, but it seems I've made up my mind that it's going to happen. Even though I question my every move, I still find myself walking to my truck and driving off in the direction of his house.

I parallel park on the street, so I can't see if their van is in the alley out back or not, but the living room light is definitely on. I feel like a real creeper trying to stare in the windows for a sign of Carrick, especially when I see the blinds get pushed back. So, he's there and he knows I'm a creeper. Awesome.

Although putting my truck in drive and speeding off like a coward seems like a really good option, I know I can't do it. I have to at least man up enough to walk to the door. What happens after that isn't really up to me.

The porch steps creak so much under my feet that even if Carrick hadn't been standing by the window, I have no doubt he would still hear my approach. I'm pretty sure the doorbell doesn't work, so I don't bother; I just bang my fist against the door. The blinds shift again and I step back in anticipation of the door swinging open.

It doesn't. 

I bang on the door again, then call out, “Carrick! I know you're there.”

The blinds shift again, this time enough for me to see his eyes staring out at me, intensely blue but unreadable. I stare straight at him and mouth the word “please.” In an instant, he disappears from the window. The blinds fall back into place and I have no clue whether he's coming to the door or hiding.

Seconds later, I have my answer. 

The door swings open to reveal Carrick, shivering even though it's a sweltering hot day. A half-smoked cigarette hangs from his mouth, ashes trailing off into the floor. I don't remember the last time I saw him smoke a cigarette; I thought he had quit. He stares at me blankly, evidently waiting for me to make the next move or say the next words.

“Carrick,” I say. “Can I come in?”

“Probably. Should you?”

His tone isn't as sarcastic as his words, but it still stings. I don't understand where this is coming from at all. “Seriously... I need to talk.”

“You didn't need to talk all weekend. Or this morning,” he replies, taking a lazy drag on his cigarette. The smoke burns my eyes but that's the least of my concerns.

“That's different,” I say. “I need to talk now.”

“About what?” he asks, leaning against the door frame. He just looks annoyed with my existence.

I've never seen Carrick this quiet, this unfriendly. It's not like him at all and I don't understand it. It seems forced, though. A thought passes through my mind and even though it seems absolutely ridiculous, I can't help wondering...

“She got to you, didn't she? She told you to stay away from me.”

Carrick looks confused, but then I see realization wash over him. “Your wife? What the hell does this have to do with-–wait, did she tell _you_ to stay away from me?”

I nod, too ashamed to admit that I hadn't argued with her command. I think Carrick can figure that out for himself, though. My eyes are fixed firmly on the peeling paint of the porch; the admission I didn't need to make is too shameful for me to even meet Carrick's eyes – at least, until he speaks again.

“She didn't tell me anything, Zac. I made my own choice to stay away from you.”

My head snaps back up. “Why would you do that? You're my best friend.”

His eyes cloud over and he stares off into the distance. “I've been asking myself that all weekend.”

“You mean... about what happened after the party?”

I can't find any more words to describe it, but Carrick nods so I know he knows what I mean. “Yeah, molesting you in your sleep isn't exactly the friendliest thing to do.”

“I wasn't asleep, Carrick. I woke up when I was... well...” My cheeks might actually be on fire right now. I still have no good explanation for why my body decided to act out my disgusting wet dreams on Carrick. 

“That doesn't make it any better,” he replies, blowing out an angry cloud of smoke that makes me cough. “Sorry. But just because you were awake – I mean, I didn't ask or anything. I just thought... you needed a little relief, you know? Stupid, drunk logic.”

“But I did,” I say. “I did need... relief. God, I needed something after what Taylor did.”

“You didn't need me to molest you.”

“Can you stop using that word?” I ask, scrunching up my nose. “You're making it sound worse than it was. Not that it was-–you know what I mean.”

I'm not sure, but I swear that makes Carrick blush. I can't believe I almost admitted that I enjoyed getting a hand job from him, but it's hardly the strangest thing that's happened today. He coughs, a tiny puff of smoke escaping his lips, then finally looks me in the eyes.

“So, you don't think I'm the creepiest creeper to ever creep?” 

I shake my head. “Nah, I think I won that title a long time ago. You know, when I started thinking about fucking my brother.”

“Second creepiest, then,” he says with a wry grin.

“I'd expect nothing less from my best friend,” I reply. “I mean, if you still are...”

“Your best friend?” He finishes for me. “Of course. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

I let out a long sigh. “Good. I don't care what Kate says, I need you in my life. Especially right now.”

All of my energy seems to drain out of my body as I think about that morning. I wander off and collapse into the porch swing. Carrick stubs his cigarette out on the door frame and walks over to sit down next to me. He nudges my leg gently. “Taylor again?”

I nod. “Yeah. He kissed me.”

“I know; I was there.”

“No, not then,” I reply. I can't even look up at Carrick as I try to explain it. “This morning... in the control booth.”

Carrick's body stiffens and he pulls away from me slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And he... he went down on me.” When the words leave my mouth, they're replaced with a strange sense of relief. It feels good, somehow, to admit it. The relief it gives me is enough for me to finally raise my head up and glance at Carrick again.

“Just, like, randomly?”

“Well, I didn't ask him to suck my dick, if that's what you mean,” I reply.

“What did he _say_?” Carrick asks, his brow furrowed.

“Not a damn thing. He just... did it. And then walked out. And then you were gone, too.”

Carrick sighs. “I'm sorry, man. I didn't realize...”

“Then why did you leave?”

“I figured you guys were gonna fight, not...” he trails off, shaking his head a little. “I just didn't want to be collateral damage. If I'd known he was gonna fuck with your head like that again, I would have stuck around.”

“Yeah?” I ask. There's something in Carrick's voice that tells me he's more bothered by Taylor's actions than he's letting on.

“Yeah,” he replies solemnly. “So, explain to me again how this happened?”

I swallow hard and force myself to replay the scene in my mind again. “Well, we went to the control booth, like you saw. He just turned the music up and kissed me. Then he was on his knees and, well, you know. When it was over, he walked out without a single word. That was it. That's all.”

“Not a word? Or even, like, a look?”

I shake my head. “No. Nothing. Just that weird look he had at the party. I don't think he was drunk or anything, though.”

“Would he do that? Show up to work strung out?” Carrick asks, leaning in curiously.

“I wouldn't put it past him,” I reply with a small shrug. “You didn't really know him that well when he was still hanging out with Alex. I don't know if he ever came to the studio high, but I couldn't tell. I had no idea. I didn't realize how bad it was until it was all over.”

Carrick nods, his eyes clouding over again. I know he's friends with Alex, so it's possible I've stepped over a line in practically blaming him for Taylor's past drug habits. But surely Carrick knows what I mean; after all, he first met Taylor at one of those LA parties with Alex. Still, I feel like I should be backpedaling somehow, but I don't even know where to start.

“I don't know if it would even make this all better if he _was_ getting high again. You know what I mean? That would just mean he didn't really...” 

“Want you,” Carrick finishes for me.

“Yeah.”

Carrick leans back and eyes me for a second. “You know what I'm going to tell you to do, right?”

“Probably. And I doubt I'm going to do it.”

“As long as I've encouraged you to, then I've done my job,” Carrick says. “But really, you need to talk to him. Ask him what the hell he's thinking.”

I groan and bury my head in my hands. 

“I know, I know. That's why I'm not going to force you to do it.”

“But you won't shut up until I do,” I reply, my voice muffled by my hands.

“Probably not,” he says with a chuckle. “But I never shut up, period.”

I sit back up and laugh, but it's a pathetic imitation of my usual laugh. Still, it isn't totally inauthentic. Carrick's right; he never shuts up. It's part of what I like about him. Not many people can keep up with my crazy rambling or fill in the silence when I'm quiet. But Carrick can. I was stupid to think that I could go on without him as my best friend.

“So, you want to come in and smoke a bowl? Calm your mind a little.”

I consider it for a second, then wiggle my cell phone out of my pocket and check the time. My heart drops a little when I realize how late it's getting. “Wish I could. I've gotta go get the kids. Kate should be home soon.”

He nods. “That's cool. Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I reply, even though I don't think tomorrow will work either. Kate's not going to be happy when she realizes I'm not sticking to my promise to avoid him outside of work. I've got to stand up to her about it, I know, but it won't be easy.

Carrick nods. I'm sure he heard the hesitation in my voice and knows what it means. “Well, I'll see you at the office, anyway.”

“Yeah. Later, man,” I say, standing up and taking a long, deep breath.

Carrick stands up, too, and runs his hand across my back reassuringly. “Later.”

With another deep breath, I walk off the porch and down the steps. I pause at the last step and spin around to face him. “Carrick? Thanks.”

I don't really know what I'm thanking him for. Maybe it's for listening to me today. Maybe it's for listening to me every time I have these stupid breakdowns over Taylor. Maybe, just a little bit, it's for the hand job. I don't know.

He nods, though, and says, “Anytime.”

I don't ask him which of those he's giving the green light. I think, maybe, it's all of them.


	9. Silence

As much as I dread it, I know I have to go home that night. I know that when I get there, Kate will be there, too. We already agreed that she would pick up the kids on her way back into town, so I don't even have that little chore as an excuse to delay the inevitable. There's really nothing else I can do but go back to her. It's stupid how much I dread it, I know, but I have no doubt there will be a fight when I get there.

With everything else going on in my life, I just don't have the energy left to fight with my wife, too.

Because my mind is otherwise occupied, it hasn't even occurred to me that Kate might be home earlier than she said to expect her. I'm hoping to have some time alone before I have to face her, but as soon as I pull in the driveway, I see that's not going to be the case. That worries me. Since I'm in fact later than she expected me, I can already anticipate her questions and I don't want to answer a single one of them.

The house is quiet when I walk in, so quiet that I wonder if only her car is here and not Kate herself. But I soon find her in the kitchen, surveying the instructions on the back of whatever it is she's trying to cook for dinner. I'm not saying she's a bad cook-–I certainly have no room to insult anyone's abilities in the kitchen-–but I'm certainly not excited about coming home to yet another boxed pasta whatever.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Kate says without even looking up, her voice completely monotone. I can't even tell how upset she is. She's always been good at speaking in those kind of measured tones that don't let on how she really feels. I hate it.

But more than I hate it, I don't feel like contending with it. So I ignore her, walking right by the stove where she stands and getting myself a soda from the refrigerator. I don't know what she wants from me – an argument or tacit agreement with whatever she says, but I know which one she'll get if I let myself speak a word.

“You're late coming home.”

“You're early,” I reply. I'm not being argumentative; she really was earlier than I expected. Granted, I was late as well.

“I know work didn't run late,” she says, stirring the pasta lazily. “Taylor was already at home when Nat and I pulled in. So don't try to use that excuse.”

“I wasn't going to – ” I begin, before deciding better of it. She's already made up her mind about what I'm going to do, so it's just easier to let her think what she thinks and avoid the fight.

So, with my soda in hand, I head to my “office,” which is really nothing fancier than a room with a computer desk, a keyboard and some basic recording equipment. I could never put together anything more than a crappy demo in it, but it helps when I need to be creative and can't or don't want to go to the studio. I don't feel like working right now, which is a sign of just how bad my mood is, but I open up my laptop and check my email anyway, just to have something to do.

About twenty minutes have passed, and I'm still in no better mood, when Kate knocks lightly at the half-closed door. She doesn't peek her head in, but I can still see her standing there. “Dinner's ready.”

I give her a small nod and a murmured “okay,” but I'm in no hurry at all to leave the safety of my office. I know I can't avoid dinner, though. The kids are perceptive, even though they're young. I'm certain they know when there's tension in the house, and I always try to alleviate that tension-–or at least shove it way, way deep down-–as much as I can, for their sake.

Kate is already dishing out dinner to the kids when I finally make my way to the table. She barely even glances up at me when I walk in, and I figure that's a probably better greeting than I deserve. I fill my own plate, take my seat, and sit down to the quietest dinner this house has seen for a long time. Again, of all possible outcomes, I think this silence is for the best.

Once we're all finished with our dinner, I retreat back to my office for the rest of the evening. I wait until I know Kate has tucked the kids into bed before I feel safe venturing back into the rest of the house. It makes me feel like such a coward, but it's just a little conflict avoidance. Who could fault me for that? Until recently, I would have thought Kate would appreciate it, but there are times lately when I just don't know anymore. I know she's not just picking pointless fights; she thinks she has a point about Carrick, after all. But she _is_ still picking fights, pointless or not.

She's already in bed, reading some silly piece of chick lit like she and Natalie are always gushing over, when I walk by to take my shower. Once again, neither of us says a word. I know it's only a matter of time, though, before one of us breaks the silence.

As I shower, my mind decides to remind me of all the reasons why I'm a horrible husband and why I should just put Kate out of her misery and end this for both of us. I've loved Taylor for so long that it hardly even seemed worthy of feeling guilty for. I wasn't really cheating – at least, I hadn't been. Now it's not just this sickness in my brain; now it's a real, tangible thing that's _happening_. 

And, if that wasn't enough, there's also Carrick and whatever the hell happened with him.

I'm not mad at him. I'm not even mad at myself for letting it happen. I am, however, confused as hell. This thing with Taylor was just such a given that I've never even doubted myself and my sexuality before. I was straight; I just had this unfortunate crush on my brother. It didn't make sense, but it was me.

Coming in another guy's hand – not to mention Taylor's mouth – makes a guy kind of reconsider things, though.

I love Carrick. It's as much as given and a fact of who I am as my crush on Taylor. But it's not the same. Carrick's my best friend. It took us all of thirty minutes from his arrival at Fools Banquet to just click and become this inseparable, song writing, pot smoking duo. The way I feel about him is so different from how I feel about Taylor or even Kate; it never occurred to me to doubt it or even consider what it means.

As I step out of the shower and into the foggy bathroom, I can't help thinking that maybe I should consider it. I just really, really don't want to, especially when my wife is waiting on the other side of the bathroom door.

I don't even glance Kate's way when I walk out of the bathroom in only my towel, and I don't feel her eyes on me when I drop the towel and put on a pair of boxers. It's not like I was expecting sex tonight, but at least the tiniest acknowledgment that I'm naked would be nice. I guess that sort of thing just gets routine after a while when you're married, but it never has with us. All the time I spend on the road keeps things from getting very boring when I get back. I have been home for a while this time, though, and I suppose she's too upset with me to even be in the mood for makeup sex.

She's still got her head buried in that book when I climb underneath the covers, careful to keep a little distance between us until I can judge just how bad her mood is.

“You were with Carrick,” she states plainly, still not looking up at me.

“I was,” I admit.

“Were you going to tell me that?”

I shrug. “Seems you already knew. What's the point?”

“The point is,” she begins, slamming her book shut and finally looking at me, “you said you wouldn't hang out with him. Yet you did.”

“So I did.” I really, really don't want to argue with her, but she's making it really difficult to avoid. My blood is boiling now at the realization of just what she was asking me to give up – the one friendship I can really count on right now. And I won't do it.

“Any particular reason why you decided to go against my wishes?”

“Because I disagreed with them. He's my best friend, Kate, regardless of what you think of him,” I reply, keeping my voice as calm as I can, even though my mind is screaming at me. I can't lose Carrick. I just can't. I won't let Kate take him away from me.

“So my opinion doesn't matter?”

I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “I didn't say that. But I don't have to live and die by your opinions, Kate.”

“They should still matter,” she replies, her tone clipped in the way it always is just before she loses her cool and a calm conversation devolves into a fight.

“They should,” I reply, throwing the covers back and standing up. “But that doesn't mean they have to change mine. And my opinion is that Carrick is the best friend I've ever had.”

It's a low blow, and I really can't find it in myself to care how much it hurts her. There was time when, aside from Taylor – and we all know how I feel about him – my best friend was Kate. She stood by me through the hardest time the band ever went through, and that pretty much sealed the deal on our relationship. But there are things she can't know, that Carrick does. At least in that way, his friendship trumps what I have with Kate.

It's fucked up, I know, but it is what it is.

“Where are you going?”

I tuck my pillow under my arm. “I'm going to sleep on the couch.”

“I think that's a good idea,” she replies, those few words letting me know how much I've hurt her.

I know I'll regret it all in the morning and offer an apology. It won't be sincere, because I'll still feel the same way, but I will regret letting her know. Right now, though, I can't help feeling a tiny bit of victory, however fleeting, for standing up for myself.


	10. Downpour

I was wrong. In the morning, I feel absolutely no need to apologize at all. I find that fits in quite well with the way that Kate obviously feels no need to speak to me at all. We've settled into a routine well enough for the past few months that I've been mostly at home, so speech is hardly even necessary anyway. It's amazing the way we manage to get through half the week without a single word.

I wish it were normal for a husband and wife not to speak at all, because I think we could really make our marriage work this way. How sad is that?

The silence gets to me after a few days, though, because it seems my life is full of nothing but silence lately. At the office, Taylor barely speaks to me. He communicates with me mostly in subtle and confusing flirtations that leave me dying for more, but terrified to ask. So I don't speak a word.

The only person who still talks to me – really talks to me – is Carrick.

And god, does he talk. Thursday morning he rolls into the office just before lunch, his arms loaded down with boxes of Mexican takeout and a huge smile on his face. Words start flowing from his mouth as soon as he's across the threshold, and not even the lunch he's gulping down slows their flow. It's this strange mixture of mindless chatter and random deep thoughts, some musical and some not, that only he can manage to follow. I feel like I'm dangling from a rope, scrambling for purchase on the side of a cliff, while he's already at the top.

After we finish lunch, he convinces me to go in the studio with him and try to lay down a drum track for this song he's been working on. I haven't been able to follow his train of thought about the song at all, but I find there's really nothing I can do but follow him. Anything to get away from the way Taylor thinks I don't see him staring at me.

For a moment, as I follow Carrick down the hallway, I wonder if somehow, the tables have turned between me and Taylor. But that makes no sense, and I discard the thought just as quickly.

“Let me just go in the booth and turn on the track, and then I'll let you go to town, alright?”

I stare blankly back at him. “I think you trust me far too much.”

“I don't think you trust yourself enough,” he replies cryptically, leaving me standing alone in the studio. 

I watch him walk out, my eyes noticing the strange little spring in his step. I don't know what's got him so... so... I can't even describe it. But I like it. God knows I need some pep in my life, and if Carrick's going to be the one to supply it, I'm not going to complain. With that thought in mind, and his words still ringing in my ears, I walk over to my drums and sit down, grabbing the set of sticks already waiting on top of the snare.

He turns on the playback as soon as I'm comfortably seated on the drum throne. He's played me this song before, so it doesn't take long for me to find the groove and start playing something I think will sound pretty awesome on the track. It's not a real, physical thing, but it feels good to still have my music to lose myself in when everything else is going wrong. The music is an even more dependable thing in my life than Carrick. And combining the two? Heavenly.

The track ends far too soon, and I lean into the mic to ask Carrick how that sounded. He doesn't reply.

Confused and a little worried, I set down my sticks and head to the control booth to see what's going on. I push the door open and see Carrick huddled over the desk, his dark hair flopping over his eyes but still not quite obscuring the look of concentration on his face. He glances up at me slowly and sheepishly, and I see the dime bag and rolling papers laid out in front of him.

“Really, Carrick? In the office?”

He shrugs, grinning slightly. “I know you're not implying there's a bad time to smoke up.”

On one hand, I can't really find it in myself to argue with that. On the other hand, I know it's a horrible idea to smoke up at the office. I shift my weight back and forth from one foot to the other, trying to decide which part of my conscience to follow.

“Come on,” he says, a little more gently. “You need this. I'll even roll you another to take home, for hard times. You know how good I roll.”

It's true; I do know how good he rolls. It's a skill I've never quite mastered, instead amassing a nice collection of bowls to make up for it. My resolve weakens as I watch him run his tongue along the joint to seal it. “Alright. Let's go out in the alley.”

He grins. It's that wide, easy grin of his that always puts me at ease. Without another word, he's scooped up the evidence of his drug habit and stuffed it back into his pocket, the joint tucked safely behind his ear. He stands up and walks toward me. “Lead the way, then.”

There's a tiny, private alley behind our office and I'd be lying completely if I said I hadn't made use of it before. We tuck ourselves into the corner, making sure no one can see us from the street, and Carrick lights the joint. He's right. It's exactly what I needed. 

The rest of the day passes by quickly. Or maybe slowly. It's tough to say, when my perception of everything is blurred and skewed. But that's the way I like it. I'm sure the other guys suspect that something's up, by the way Carrick and I keep giggling at nothing, but I don't care and evidently _they_ don't care enough to ask.

When we all leave the office for the day, I find that I only barely dread the drive home to Kate. All my worries and fears are dulled, though my high is beginning to wear off slightly. Her car isn't in the driveway, though. There's a note on the kitchen counter, telling me that she's helping Natalie with wedding decorations and won't be home to cook dinner. I'm a little surprised that she even bothered to leave the note. Maybe she's ready to call a truce on this fight. I suppose I'll find out when she gets home, but for now, I'm just happy to have the house to myself.

I take advantage of that privacy in the only way I know how – a microwave dinner and a video game marathon. By the early evening, though, when the sun is just beginning to set, I realize that the lone joint I smoked with Carrick is long gone from my system and that sinking feeling of dread is taking me over again.

I've got to do something about it. Luckily, I've got the other joint that he rolled just for me.

I dig it out of my pocket and rummage around in the kitchen drawers for a lighter. I'm pretty sure Kate threw out all my lighters a while back – thank god she hasn't found the box where I keep all my pipes – but I still manage to find one that might have just enough juice left to get this joint going.

With the lighter in hand, I make my way to the backyard and stretch out on the deck. The sky has this weird hue to it like maybe it's going to rain soon, and I hope I'll have time to get this thing smoked before it does. 

I take my time and savor the joint, not knowing when I'll ever have a chance to smoke like this in my own backyard again. By the time I've finished it, I'm stretched out completely on the deck, my back against the boards, staring up at the sky. It still isn't raining, but I wouldn't care if it was.

After I've laid there for a while, I feel a shadow descend over me. I don't have to look up to know it's Kate.

“You're stoned.”

“You're observant.”

She crosses her arms and from below, it looks really strange. I pull myself up slowly, my head spinning. Head on, Kate looks more terrifying than strange. She stares me down, unflinching even in the face of my sarcasm. “So now you're not just hanging out with him, you're bringing that shit home?”

Kate rarely curses; when she does, it's a really good barometer for judging the level of her anger. I knew the silence would pass eventually, but I had hoped it wouldn't bring with it this kind of anger. Before I can even reply, the sky opens up and begins to pour down on us. Kate seems so resolute that I almost think the rain isn't going to stop her from staring through me, but in seconds we're both dashing for the door.

As soon as the door is shut behind us, though, she begins again. “Answer me, Zac. Is his friendship more important to you than us? Than our marriage?”

“That's not even fair to ask,” I reply. It's exactly the wrong answer, but it's also exactly how I feel.

Kate gasps. “You can't even answer me. You'd chose him and the drugs over us, wouldn't you?”

And I _can't_ answer her. Before he moved to Tulsa, I would still have been torn by a question like that, but it would have been easier to say I would choose her. Now, though, I'm not so sure. I hang my head, not willing to say the words, but knowing that she will get her answer from my body language and my silence.

With a low growl, she walks away, leaving me standing by the sliding door and staring out at the downpour. Something has changed – something that I know Kate and I won't be able to fix, even if I do stick around for the evening. My silent admission has caused a shift in our marriage that we won't be able to come back from. 

My head still hanging low, I shuffle to the living room and grab my pillow and blanket from the couch that I've called home for a few days. It's not like I really have a plan for what I'm going to do next. My legs carry me out to my truck as though they have a mind of their own. Without a second thought, I'm pulling out of the driveway and heading toward his house.

It's really coming down now, and I can barely see the lines on the road. It's like something is just pulling me toward him, though, guiding me easily through the storm. I park my car on the street out front and grab my pillow and blanket from the passenger seat. As I walk toward the door, I start to worry that he isn't there, but I think I can see the living room light through the blinds.

With my pillow still tucked under my arm, I knock on the door. I rock back and forth nervously as I wait for a reply. In seconds, the door swings open to reveal Carrick, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Zac, what are you doing?”

I bite my lip, realizing how pathetic I must look. “C-can I spend the night?”

Carrick doesn't say a word, just steps to the side and lets me in. I don't know why I even doubted that he would be there for me.


	11. Choices

As soon as I'm inside Carrick's house, I realize that I'm soaking wet and dripping water all over the floor. My shoes are squishy and full of water, and I struggle to pull them off so I'm not leaving wet footprints all through the house. The pillow and blanket that I brought with me are soaked, too, and I feel so stupid. But Carrick doesn't look at me like I'm stupid. He just claps an arm around me and leads me toward the stairs. I barely manage to mumble hello to Austin, who's slumped on the couch watching tv, as we pass by.

Carrick stops at the foot of the stairs and pries the pillow and blanket from my hands. He tosses them to the floor, then gives me a long, hard look. With what seems like a carefully measured neutral expression on his face, he asks, “Are you alright, man?”

I shake my head. Talking to Kate and driving across town had temporarily allowed me to forget just how stoned I am, but now it's hitting me full force. My mouth is dry and all the words seem to have fallen out of my brain. Carrick still doesn't seem phased, though. He just wraps his arm around me again, tighter this time, and helps me up the stairs. This is starting to feel very familiar.

We end up in his bedroom again, and it makes me a little nervous, but I don't really know how else I was expecting this to go. I did bring that pillow and blanket in the vague hope that Carrick would let me sleep on the couch, but I'm so tired of sleeping on couches that I don't really care if Carrick wants to spoon with me all night long. In fact, that sounds kind of nice.

“Here, put these on,” he says, handing me a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that looks about two sizes two big for him and maybe big enough for me.

I do as he says, not oblivious to the way he he quickly turns away to give me a little privacy. I've just barely got the shirt pulled over my chest when he turns around again and hands me a towel. I run it through my hair a few times until I don't feel quite as much like a drowned rat and toss it back to him.

He gives me a slow look up and down, then asks, “You wanna talk?”

I shake my head.

“Smoke?”

“Nah.”

“Drink?”

“Not really,” I reply, letting myself collapse onto his bed.

Carrick sits next to me, but I can tell he's deliberately putting some distance between us. I don't like it. I inch closer to him, just enough that our legs are touching. I can tell Carrick notices, because his eyes flicker ever so quickly downward, then just as quickly back to my face. He heaves a sigh. “So no talking, smoking or drinking. What do you wanna do, then?”

“I just want to turn my brain off and rest,” I say, not even caring how pathetic I sound.

“We can do that,” he replies, nudging me backward a little. 

I take the hint and crawl back toward the pillow, wiggling under the covers. Carrick follows me, pulling the covers up over his own body as well. I'm nestled between the wall and him, but it's not an uncomfortable place to be. It isn't like last weekend was even the first time the two of us have slept together; on more than one occasion we've sacked out on the same bed or couch after a marathon of video games and weed. Even sober and in light of last weekend, it doesn't feel all that strange to be so close to him.

Okay, maybe it feels a little strange.

It's mostly his hand on my arm, rubbing gently up and down, that makes it feel somehow wrong-–or, more accurately, like it _should_ feel wrong. I glance over at him and see that he's staring at me, his brow furrowed gently with concern. He's probably frustrated that I won't talk about whatever it is that made me drive through the pouring rain to end up on his doorstep. My tongue still feels two sizes to big for my mouth, but I do want to tell him _something_.

“It was Kate,” I finally manage to say, my voice gravelly and low. “We had a fight.”

“It had to be either her or Taylor,” he replies, his hand sliding over to wrap around my waist. 

Anyone who didn't know us would probably be highly confused by our body language, the way we're practically cuddling, but it's just the way we are together, always touchy feely and practically glued to each other's side. I wouldn't have given it a second thought until last weekend. But it still feels so comfortable and so right. 

I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh. “She wanted me to choose, you know. Between... you and the weed, and her.”

I can't even look at Carrick when I say it. I don't know why I'm so ashamed; the fact that I'm laying here with him should be a damn good hint at which choice I made. He heaves a heavy sigh that I can feel practically running through _my_ body and asks, “And you chose me?”

“I didn't _not_ choose you,” I reply. “I didn't really say anything... but I'm here, aren't you?”

“You are,” he replies, tightening his grip on my waist almost protectively, like he's trying to make sure I don't leave. But I'm not going anywhere. “Even if you didn't say it, it's not like you can just undo this – coming here, I mean.”

“I don't want to undo it,” I say, turning my head up to stare at Carrick. We're in an awkward position, though, so all I can really see is his chin stubble. Good enough. “You know me better than anyone. You're where I want to be right now.”

He wiggles down so that he's finally eye to eye with me. I've never noticed before just how strikingly blue his eyes are – comparable only to Taylor's, really. For some reason, I feel this surge of guilt for thinking about Taylor while I'm lying in bed with Carrick. It's not like I'm cheating on Taylor with him, but somehow it feels that way. I could never compare the two of them, anyway. They're too different.

“Do you really know what you're choosing, Zac?”

I stare at him, not sure what he's asking. I know what I'm choosing. The one true friend I've got.

He shakes his head. “Forget it. You're still stoned and I'm asking questions you can't answer.”

“I know what I'm choosing,” I reply, but my voice sounds far less certain that I had hoped it would.

“I'm not asking you to do this or that or anything,” he says. “You know that, right? Kate's the one with the ultimatums. I just want you to be happy with whatever... whoever... you choose.”

I'm still not sure I totally understand what he's saying, but I can tell by his tone of voice that it's very important. Maybe I shouldn't have smoked that joint all by myself. Maybe then I could sort out everything I'm thinking and feeling. The rational, sober part of my brain is chanting _he's your best friend_ over and over. But the still stoned part of my brain is in love with the feeling of his arms wrapped around me and our chests pressed together. And that part of my brain really just wants to know what it would feel like to kiss him.

He's breathing heavier, his chest rising and falling against mine rapidly. I lean in and press my cheek again his, enjoying the way his stubble tickles my skin. I don't know how to ask him for what I want. It should be simple, just two small words-– _kiss me_. But somehow, as I nuzzle the side of his face, I'm still speechless.

“Zac...” he breathes out, his lips grazing my cheek. “What do you want?”

He's giving me a choice, but not in the way that Kate did. It's not an either or situation where neither option seems all that promising. It's an open ended question, an invitation to do whatever it is that will make me happy. And I know that whatever I pick, Carrick will be okay with it.

So I kiss him.

His lips are soft, softer than Taylor's, and I like the way it contrasts with the stubble rubbing against my face. At first, he doesn't respond at all, doesn't move his lips even the tiniest fraction. Then he lets out this little sound that's like a cross between a sigh and a whimper and suddenly he's kissing me back. 

There's something about the way his tongue grazes my bottom lip and the way he tugs at my shirt that makes me think he wants this, too. Maybe he wasn't only trying to make _me_ feel better last weekend. I don't know. I can't make sense of all that right now. All I can do is let my mouth fall open and follow his lead, our tongues swirling together like they've done this a million times before.

I roll onto my back, dragging Carrick along with me. He's on exactly the same page, his legs tangling with mine and his hands resting on the nape of my neck. Maybe it's the weed, or the fact that Carrick has already touched me before, or something else I don't understand yet, but I'm not ashamed at all by the fact that I'm getting hard. I'm sure Carrick can feel it pressing into his leg. In fact, I know he can, because he's rolling his hips now, his own hardness pressing back against me.

He breaks the kiss, finally, both of us panting heavily, and rests his head on my shoulder. I rub his back, trying to still his breathing even though my chest is heaving too. He mumbles something unintelligible, but definitely containing a few curse words, against my shoulder.

“Carrick...” I say, my voice pleading, begging for a glimpse inside his mind.

He lifts his head a fraction, just enough to meet my eyes. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you came here?”

“No,” I reply. His brow furrows and I realize I haven't been clear enough. I take a deep breath and try again. “I mean, it's not why I came here, but I do want it. I don't know why I came here.”

The haze is my mind has cleared some, but not enough for me to fully sort out all the thoughts swirling around it and confusing me. Something in Carrick's face tells me he's not satisfied with that answer, and I can't say that I blame him. I'm not satisfied with it, but it's all I've got.

“Let's just go to sleep, okay?” He rolls off of me, the sudden lack of his weight and body heat leaving me feeling completely empty and alone. 

I sigh, but I don't argue with him. It feels like somehow I've disappointed him, though I don't know how. Carrick doesn't turn away from me completely, though. He still holds me close, though perhaps not as tightly, and he doesn't object when I tuck my head into the hollow spot above his collarbone. 

There's still so much more that I want to say, but I just can't. Carrick's breathing has finally slowed to normal, so I'm not even sure he's still awake, anyway. My mouth is still all dry and my head full of useless white noise that doesn't get me any closer to explaining to Carrick that I came here because I _did_ chose him. 

I know it's a choice that could change everything, and I'm not even sure _what_ I'm choosing for. All I know is that I need Carrick closer, need him to always be in my life, in a way that I don't need Kate or even Taylor. I want to tell him all of that, but I can feel his chest rising and falling slowly now. He doesn't even stir when I run my bare foot across his. Maybe in the morning, I can get my mouth to form all the words he needs to know.


	12. Morning Wood

The last few mornings, I've woken up with the worst back ache in the world. Not even a three month tour, sleeping cramped up on a tour bus, could cause that kind of pain. I think Kate chose our couch specifically because of how uncomfortable it is; she just knew I would be spending large amounts of time sleeping on it, and she wanted to be sure that I suffered.

Today, though, I wake up in no pain at all. 

In fact, I wake up feeling completely rested and peaceful. I'm not on a couch, I quickly realize. I'm in a bed. Carrick's bed. And Carrick is pressed up against my back, his face nestled against my shoulder blade in a way that probably hurts, but he's snoring softly-–it's almost like a purr–-so I guess he's alright. His arm is draped across my stomach, completely casually but a little protectively, and I don't want to move even an inch and disturb him.

Which is, of course, why my body decides that this is the perfect morning to make like a teenager again. Yup. Morning wood.

It's like my body is determined to make sure I look like a total pervert every time I end up in Carrick's bed. I try to think about anything un-sexy at all, but it's no use. Carrick wiggles a little in his sleep, nudging his hips closer to me, and a stupid moan works its way out of my mouth all on its own. I freeze, even though I haven't moved at all, praying that the sound doesn't wake him.

But of course it does.

I know that what we _should_ do is talk about last night and the choice I made. We should talk about the fact that, for all intents and purposes, I chose him over my wife. We should talk about the way we kissed. But his hand is tracing circles on my stomach and erasing all those thoughts from my mind. I don't want to talk. I want _him_.

“Carrick,” I manage to croak out in my stupid, gravely morning voice. It's just his name, nothing more, but I think my tone, gravely though it was, has conveyed my need.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft and sweet. I can feel his warm breath through my–-no, his-–t-shirt. His hand creeps under the shirt, fingers tangling in the little hairs on my lower stomach. It tickles a little, but I like it. 

Feeling bold, or maybe just desperate, I place my hand over his and guide him toward my dick. Even through the sweat pants, I have no doubt that he can feel it. His breathing speeds up, hot and damp against my shoulder, but his hand doesn't falter. He grips me through the layers of fabric, sweatpants and boxers, and strokes slowly but deliberately. 

“Zac,” he whispers against my back. “Is this what you want?”

I remember him asking the same question the night before. I've never known of Carrick being insecure, but it seems he's looking for some sort of validation from me now. Or confirmation. It's a big, important, loaded question. He's not just asking if I want him to get me off-–he's asking if I want him.

And I do. I don't know what's going to happen once I walk out of this house, but I know that in this moment, there's nothing I want more than him. My words still fail me, though. In the hopes that actions will speak louder and clearer, I pull his hand away and turn to face him. I don't say a word at all; I just kiss him, as though I could funnel all the words stuck in my brain into that kiss and make him understand that way.

The kiss goes on and on until we're both pulling away, breathless. There's something different in his eyes, the way he stares right through me, that tells me I have somehow managed to communicate all that I wanted.

“You know this is going to change everything?” He asks, but it's barely a question at all. It's like he's grasping at straws now, looking for any reason at all to delay the inevitable. 

I chuckle softly. “It couldn't change things more than the hand job last weekend or the blow job from Taylor or walking out on--”

Carrick cuts me off with another kiss, his hand sliding past the sweatpants and my boxers to grasp me fully, skin against skin. Even my lips are shaking against his as I snake my hand between our bodies, sliding it into his shorts. He isn't wearing any underwear underneath them, so my hand finds his cock sooner than I had expected. It's warm and hard, pulsing in my hand. I don't know what I expected; after all, I'm well acquainted with my own. It's not like learning my way around the female anatomy, but it's still different and foreign.

After a moment to adjust – to not freak out about the fact that I've got my best friend's cock in my hand – it isn't that weird at all. Only the angle of it is strange, but soon enough I adjust to that, too. The two of us fall into an easy rhythm, stroking each other at almost exactly the same pace. His lips fall away from mine, finding a sensitive spot on my neck and just resting there, his breath tickling my skin as it comes out in faster and faster little puffs.

I don't know about Carrick, but I'm definitely not at my best in the morning. I can already feel myself getting pathetically close, and there's nothing I can do to delay it. I think he's having the same problem, though; his breath is hitching and coming out in these beautiful little whimpers, and he's thrusting into my hand so fast I can barely keep up.

Before I can even think through the logistics of this, there's a warm wetness seeping onto my hand and Carrick's whimpers are turning into full on moans. He tenses against me, then relaxes, his body feeling more like it's made of jello than bones and muscles. His relaxation only lasts a moment, though, before he's stroking me with renewed vigor. I slide my hand out of his shorts and survey the dampness on them for a moment before darting my tongue out to lick it up. It doesn't taste bad at all, but I'm still embarrassed to look at Carrick afterward. There's something in his eyes that I can't quite place, another question I'm sure he's about to ask.

His lips are still pressed against my neck, each syllable he speaks reverberating through my body. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

The power of speech has apparently left me entirely, but that's okay, because I have no plans to tell him to stop. Carrick presses a soft, gentle kiss to my neck, then slithers his way down my body, his hand leaving my dick for only as long as it takes to shove both sweatpants and boxers down. The cool air of the room hits my flesh, but only for a moment, then it's quickly replaced with the warm wetness of Carrick's mouth. 

I'm glued to the bed, much as I was glued to the control booth door just a few days ago – and immediately, I hate myself for yet again comparing Carrick to Taylor. They're not the same at all. Taylor didn't ask; he just took what he wanted. I've never seen Carrick so hesitant, so unsure of himself, but at the same time, his slow and deliberate licks are anything but unsure. He's attentive, caring, I'd almost even call it _loving_ , and I'm easily undone. 

My hand feels like it's full of lead as I lift it up and run my fingers through Carrick's hair, once again hoping that my body can say what my mouth won't. A soft moan, almost inaudible except for the subtle vibrations it sends through me, falls from his mouth and that's all it takes to push me that last tiny centimeter over the edge. I clutch his hair tightly in my hand as I feel him licking up every drop of come I've got to offer.

He slithers back up my body leisurely, as though there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be than right there, on top of me. I can't think of any place I'd rather have him, either. I kiss the side of his face, since it's the closest thing to my lips, and sigh contentedly against him. There's still a part of my brain that wants to compare this to that stupid encounter with Taylor, but I'm fighting it as hard as I can, trying instead just to focus on the boy I'm actually with.

With? Physically, yes. In any other sense of the word... I don't know. I'm still married, even if I did walk out on her last night. I'm not free to say that I'm with Carrick, even though I'm growing more certain with each moment that it's what I want. Is it what Carrick wants, though? I don't know and I'm terrified to ask.

We lay there together in silence for a long time. Maybe he's just as afraid to speak as I am. It's not an uncomfortable silence, though. In fact, I'd be happy to stay in bed with him all day, just laying together wordlessly. It's not a reasonable thing to do, though; after all, we're both supposed to be at the studio later that day. I wonder what everyone will think if we arrive together. 

“You want breakfast before we go to work?” Carrick asks, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. It does feel right, in a way, to wake up with him and share breakfast. Still...

“I should go home and shower,” I reply. Carrick starts to pull away and I add, “but I can eat a quick breakfast first.”

His relief is palpable, from the way he relaxes against me again to the smile that spreads across his face. With a quick kiss to my forehead, he peels himself off of me and walks out of the room. He's gone for a few minutes before I find the energy to finally stand and gather up my clothes from the floor. I can already smell coffee brewing by the time I make my way down the stairs to join him in the kitchen.

“Sorry there's nothing fancy this time,” Carrick says without even turning around. “Just some bagels and cream cheese. I did toast them for you.”

“You spoil me,” I reply, scouring the refrigerator for orange juice. I'm not a fan of coffee and he's got one of those fancy one cup machines, anyway.

I sit down at the table with my juice, finding that a plate is already waiting on me with the promised toasted bagel and cream cheese. Carrick joins me moments later with his fancy cup of coffee, and I can't help recalling the last time we sat in these exact chairs together. This morning, somehow, doesn't feel that awkward.

Still, I'm halfway through my bagel before either of us says a word.

“You still didn't answer me,” he says. He doesn't sound annoyed, though – more like he's amused by my silence.

“I know,” I reply between bites. “I'm not sure what to say.”

He nods. “And you don't have to say or do anything with me that you don't want to. But I need to know what you want.”

“What if I don't even know?”

“That's okay, too,” he replies, setting his coffee cup down and placing his hand over mine, as a reassuring way of punctuating his statement.

“Shouldn't I be trying to figure that out, though?”

Carrick shrugs. He's back to his usual laid back self, I see. “Sure. But there's no time limit on figuring it out. Unlike some people, I've got no ultimatums for you. Whenever you figure out what it is you want-–and even if I'm not part of that-–I'll still be here. You know that, right?”

I nod. I do know that. It's just about the only thing I'm sure about right now, and it's making it a lot easier to figure out what I want.

We lapse back into the same comfortable silence for the rest of our breakfast together. Austin wanders in at some point and pours himself a glass of orange juice; if he notices anything strange or different about us, he doesn't bother mentioning it. It feels like something big has changed, like Carrick said. I feel like a different man, and I see him differently, too. I don't know what it all means yet, but it gives me the confidence to know that once I walk back out of his house, things will be okay. I'll be okay.

I don't know about Carrick, but I'm eating my bagel and drinking my juice as slowly as I possibly can. I'm stalling, not because I'm afraid of seeing Kate again-–okay, maybe a little bit – but because I don't want to leave him. I can't remember a time when I've wanted so desperately to cling to him.

But I can't stay there forever. Too soon my bagel is gone and I have no good excuse to hang around. Carrick tosses our dishes in the sink, then stands over my chair expectantly. I stare back up at him for a moment before realizing that he wants to walk me out, like this was a date or something. It's kind of cute, so I stand obediently and let him lead me to the door.

We stand together at the door for a long, almost awkward moment. I've never been so acutely aware of how much taller than me he is, taller even than Taylor. And there I go comparing them again. I wish I knew how to make my brain just _stop_. Carrick takes my hand in his, and that goes a long way toward erasing all these Taylor thoughts.

“See you at work?” He asks, his voice taking on a hopeful tone that I think is kind of strange. Of course he's going to see me at work.

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling this silly grin spread across my face. Am I blushing? I might be blushing.

If I am, Carrick definitely is. Have we been transformed into teenage girls over breakfast? I can't explain this. I don't have much more time to contemplate it, though, before he's leaning down and pressing his lips to mine. The kiss doesn't last long; I'm left with only the vague impression of his lips and the taste of coffee, and then he's gone.

We stare at each other for a moment more, both smiling and blushing stupidly, before I finally work up the nerve to pry my hand from his and leave. Neither one of us says goodbye, but that's okay. We'll see each other later, anyway, and this morning feels more like a beginning than an ending.


	13. Kids Menu

Kate finds any reason she can to stay gone from our house over the next few days. I'm not surprised. With the vow renewal coming in just a few short days, she's occupied with helping Natalie get things ready – at least, that's the excuse it seems we're using to explain why we've barely spoken since the night I left for Carrick's. The kids are pawned off on the grandparents and I'm blissfully alone at the house for a few days.

I want to go back and spend the night with Carrick again, but I find myself unable to ask him if I can. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of, but there's some strange apprehension holding me back, some voice in my head whispering to _take things slow_.

I don't even know what that means. I don't know what any of this means. All I know is that every morning – or, in some cases, afternoon-–when Carrick walks in the studio, this... _thing_ flutters up in my stomach. In all the years I've known Carrick, I've never thought of him as more than a friend, so I don't really know where this is coming from, but it's hard to deny what it is.

Wednesday, just three days shy of the vow renewal, it seems like everyone at the office has decided to kick things into overdrive. It's like the world might end on Saturday and they want to get everything possible done before then. What does it matter, though, if the world is going to end, anyway? I don't get it, but I'm swept up in their current, tracking songs and sending emails and staring at so many package labels that my vision starts to blur.

And it's not even noon.

At some point, I wave my metaphorical white flag and head back to my desk to hide. Yes, hide. I'm actually considering crawling under the desk rather than sitting at it, because, well, I'd be more hidden that way. 

But then there's Carrick. I hear him before I see him – the distinct shuffling sound of his old Vans on the concrete floors and his carefree whistle. My head's cradled in my hands on my desk, but I can still tell when he gets close, close enough that I can smell the faintest hint of smoke and hear him breathing.

He rests his hand on my shoulder. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I mumble into my arms. “Just overworked.”

He kneads my shoulder gently, and I raise my head to look at him. As soon as our eyes meet, that fluttering feeling takes hold in my stomach again. He smiles down at me. “Well, let's get out of here. I mean, I just woke up, but it's lunch time, right?”

The tension and frustration I've felt all day is beginning to fade, just in the few moments since Carrick arrived. I can't refuse him, not when he's smiling at me like that. I haven't actually been productive for over an hour, so I don't even feel any guilt about taking a lunch break – especially a lunch break that involves Carrick.

“Sure. Let's go.”

He grabs a post-it note from my desk, scribbles the words “Out To Lunch” on it and slaps it on the front of my computer screen. With another crooked smile, he holds his hand out to me. I feel my face heating up, but I place my hand in his anyway, and pull myself up to stand in front of him. Once again, I'm reminded of our height difference as I find myself eye to nose with him. I tilt my head back to look him in the eyes, acutely aware of the fact that we're just standing in the middle of the office, holding hands. I guess that realization just hit him, too, because we both yank our hands back at the same time.

Yeah, today definitely has the potential to be really awkward.

I don't feel like staying too close to the office for lunch. I can't explain it; I know the building itself isn't the source of my recent angst, but it's a tangible thing I can direct my anger toward. I suppose I could direct my anger at Kate or Taylor, but that never seems to work out well for me. So, I'll stick with pretending our office is the bane of my existence, and I'll make Carrick hike a few blocks for lunch.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. He trails along, just a few steps behind me, staring around at the streets and buildings like he's never seen a city before. I guess he is still getting accustomed to Tulsa, though; most of his visits in the past had him holed up at the family compound, not really seeing anything of Tulsa other than the airport. I can't help smiling a little as I watch his eyes light up at each new sight. So much for Tulsa being just another boring midwestern town.

It doesn't really take us that long to reach my destination – Dilly Deli. It's one of the whole band's favorite places to eat. We've been known to descend on them en masse during long studio days and call in to-go orders so ridiculously long and complicated that I'm surprised they haven't refuse to serve us yet. 

Once he realizes it's where we're going, Carrick skips ahead of me and opens the door. I will myself not to blush or grin stupidly as I walk into the restaurant, because really, the last thing I need is for all of Dilly Deli's patrons to see me acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

No one really seems to notice, though. A waitress escorts us to a table by the window and we settle into the mismatched chairs on either side, facing each other. It definitely looks like we're on a date, but if that has occurred to Carrick, he's thought better of mentioning it. A waiter drops by to give us menus and take our drink order – Dr. Pepper and Fiji water – and Carrick immediately dives into the menu like it's his new favorite novel.

He's like that about food, though. He and his brother Rowan are amazing chefs, and I'm always trying to find more excuses to visit them in LA just so I can eat their weird, but delicious vegetarian masterpieces. I don't even need to open my menu; I've got my own special BLT order that I rarely deviate from when I'm here. But Carrick hasn't eaten here before, so he has to study the menu intently and find something that perfectly suits his gourmet palate.

When the waiter returns, Carrick flashes him a huge smile, the kind that always put me at ease and now makes those butterflies take flight in my stomach again. From the look on his face, I think it's having the same effect on our waiter. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”

“Well,” Carrick says, drawing out the word for a good five seconds. “What would happen if I tried to order from the kids menu?”

“I would make fun of you,” the waiter replies. “But, feel free.”

With a soft chuckle, Carrick says, “In that case, I'll have the kids' grilled cheese with tomato basil soup.”

So much for that gourmet palate. In between giggles, I manage to rattle off my usual order. Once the waiter has collected our menus and gotten out of earshot, I give Carrick a look. “I think he was flirting with you.”

“Are you jealous?”

I nearly spit my sip of Dr. Pepper back into the glass. Carrick doesn't falter a bit, though, just stares right at me with his eyes sparkling and his lips turned up in the tiniest of smirks. I shake my head a little, but even I'm not sure if I'm denying his question or just remarking on how ridiculous it is.

“He's not really my type,” Carrick says, the faintest of blushes crossing his cheeks.

I know I may regret leading us down this path, but I can't stop myself. “What is your type, then?”

He shrugs. “Oh, I don't know. A little manlier than him. Longer hair. Goofy grin optional.”

My cheeks are aching from the grin that never seems to go away when I'm around Carrick, so I don't even need to second guess whether or not he's describing me. I can't think of any sort of appropriate reply, so I settle for taking another sip of my soda and trying really, really hard to stop grinning.

“What about you?” he asks.

“What _about_ me?”

Carrick chuckles. “Your type.”

So much for getting rid of that grin. Or not blushing. I raise my hand and point out the window at the mostly empty street. “Oh, look. A distraction!”

Luckily, I don't need a distraction. The waiter chooses that moment to walk up with our food, and soon we're both too consumed with eating and grinning to talk. Or maybe that's just me. I'm really trying not to look at Carrick, because I don't want to see the look on his face, and I _really_ don't want him to see the look on mine.

I'm halfway through my sandwich when it hits me. This is a date.

I'm on a date. With a guy. 

Slowly, as stealthily as I can, I glance up at Carrick. He's dipping his grilled cheese in his soup, his head down just enough so that his bangs are covering his eyes. I clear my throat. “Hey, Carrick?”

“Yeah?” He replies, flipping his hair back in that casual way he has that would probably make our waiter swoon if he saw it.

Truth be told, I'm swooning a little, too. I have to glance down and play with a chip just to keep my cool. “It's just... this is weird, isn't it? Me and you. Us.”

A little bit of the sparkle fades from Carrick's eyes, but his smile remains the same – or, at least, a close approximation of the same. He breathes out heavily, like he's trying not to sigh, but the effect is the same. “You know, it doesn't have to be weird. It doesn't have to be... anything you don't want it to be.”

“I know,” I reply, even though I don't even know what it is that I want.

His voice soft and his face serious, he says, “I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Zac.”

“It's just that I'm...” Married. Still trying to ignore all evidence that I'm not entirely straight. In love with my brother. 

Carrick just nods, as though I had actually said all those things aloud. He knows. He _always_ knows. And that's why I trust him when he says it doesn't have to be weird. Whatever this is between us, it'll be okay. 

We finish our lunch in comfortable silence, and I'm grateful for that. It feels like we've turned some sort of corner, though I don't know where we're headed now. The butterflies in my stomach have calmed a bit. They still flutter a little every time Carrick meets my eyes, but I can live with that, I think. At some point, the waiter wanders over with two separate checks. I had anticipated paying for both of our lunches – or maybe Carrick would offer – and now I'm a bit lost. I guess this cuts out a potentially awkward moment, though. 

“I'm surprised he didn't slip you his number,” I say after the waiter has returned our change and walked away.

Carrick shakes his head. “I'm glad he didn't. Wouldn't wanna have to break his heart.”

He flashes me a grin and slips his sunglasses back on even though we're still inside. Now I really can't read his eyes, and it bothers me a little but not enough to complain. Instead, I just stand up and follow him out of the restaurant, struggling to keep up with his long strides and really, really trying to ignore the waiter staring at his ass.

We walk side by side down the sidewalks that lead back to the office. I wonder what people walking by think of us. Do they see two friends or a couple? At this point, it's clear that we're blurring the lines between those two categories, anyway. Maybe we always have and I just didn't see it.

The office is quiet when we walk back in. It's still lunch time, technically, so I can only assume everyone else had the same idea and have gone somewhere to eat. Carrick glances around the empty room, then back at me. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him. I don't even mind that I kind of end up in his armpit – fuck this height difference, seriously – because he kisses my forehead, and yep, the butterflies are back.

I think it was definitely a date.


	14. Smoke

The morning of the vow renewal, I'm once again alone in my bed when I wake up. I'm not surprised. I knew Kate would be spending the night with Natalie again, and the kids were once again with my parents. I had to wonder if they were getting sick of that, but I knew they would never complain.

I still don't really understand why Natalie is making such a big deal out of not seeing Taylor until the ceremony, but she is. It just seems a little ridiculous to me; it's not like there was a single guest at the first wedding who actually believed that white dress and veil were covering up any real innocence. And now we're doing that whole charade again. 

If it sounds like I don't like Natalie, well... I don't. In fact, I really, really _detest_ Natalie. I liked her well enough at first; she seemed nice, harmless enough, and her best friend liked me. It seemed perfect, but I guess it was too perfect. Sometimes I wonder if Natalie ever really wanted Taylor, or just the idea of Taylor. I thought he had figured that out and gotten away from her, but I wrong. She only managed to get her claws even deeper in and she hasn't let go since. 

Okay, maybe the baby wasn't totally her fault. I mean, Taylor was there, too. I'll never really understand what he was thinking, going back to his ex-girlfriend and letting that happen. Sometimes, I just don't understand him at all. Actually, _most_ times I don't understand him at all. I spend just as much time frustrated with him as I do lusting after him.

But even when I am totally, completely frustrated with him, I'll do anything he asks of me. Which is why there's a suit in the passenger seat of my truck as I drive across Tulsa to this big mansion thing where he's planning to renew the vows he didn't really stick to all that well in the first place. I'm pretty sure half the reason they're doing this is because Natalie is hoping the vows will take this time.

The mansion where they're holding this thing is actually pretty nice. It's one of those places that's so fancy I can't help feeling out of place, no matter how much money I've got. It's not like any of that money means I've actually got any class. I feel so awkward walking into this place, my suit slung over my shoulder and no doubt getting wrinkled. 

All sorts of workers are bustling around the first floor of the mansion, setting up tables and a dance floor for the reception. I shoulder my way through the crowd and walk up the stairs to the second floor, where two bedrooms have been set aside for the men and women to get dressed. There's even a little handwritten sign-–“Groom's Side”-–on the door. Everyone else is already inside, getting ready. Of course I'm running late; I'm only the best man, and I happen to think that's a serious misnomer.

I toss my suit down on the bed and glance around the room. Taylor is half in, half out of his suit-–perfectly pressed gray pants and a thin white t-shirt-–and struggling to get Viggo buttoned into a tiny little white dress shirt. Everyone is so busy with their clothes or hair or whatever that they hardly even seem to notice me. It reminds me all too much of ten years ago, when I felt way too young to even be allowed to be part of the whole thing. I was awkward, sweaty in the awful Georgia heat, and absolutely miserable.

Taylor hadn't looked much happier that day. I don't think he spoke two words to anyone until the reception, and I remember thinking he looked so young and so _tiny_ -–even at 6'2”-–in that tux. He looked like the slightest touch would make him completely crack and the entire day would come crashing down around all of us. If I could have found the right button to press or the right words to say to undo all of it, to break the ridiculous bubble we were all stuck in, I would have. But what could I do? I was just his kid brother, already helplessly lost in my crush on him.

He's not the same guy now. Physically, he's softened around the edges, but inside he's hard and cold. In brief, fleeting moments, I've seen his eyes sparkle, but not like they did before this very day, ten years ago. Mostly, all I see these days are the crows feet that prove he isn't, in fact, immortal. On the surface, he looks happy enough. But I see the bags under his eyes and the way he heaves a sigh and fiddles in his pocket for his cigarettes as soon as he's finally done dressing Viggo.

I don't even smoke cigarettes, but I've always been Taylor's smoking buddy. When he and Natalie lived in the pool house, I would see the tiny orange red glow of his cigarettes through my bedroom window, and without fail, I would creep downstairs and join him on the lawn. We never talked during those late night meetings, just inhaled and exhaled, until he had burnt his cigarette down to the filter. Then we went out separate ways.

As he wiggles his hand in his pocket and heads for the door, I find myself following him without even making the conscious decision to do so.

His long legs and nicotine addiction carry him out to the parking lot quickly, but finally I find him leaning against the bed of my truck, shoulders hunched and a Marlboro tucked between his lips. I lean against the truck next to him, but not too close because I don't want the smell of smoke to linger on me all day and I just don't trust myself. Taylor's eyes flicker to mine for a second, then back to some point off in the distance, like I'm not even there.

He blows out a hard little puff of smoke and, still not looking my way, asks, “Can you believe this shit?”

I don't have to ask to know he's talking about the vow renewal. I eye him carefully. “So why are you doing it?”

“Give me another option,” he says with a strangled sort of cough-laugh hybrid.

“There are always other options.”

Taylor turns to face me, not even seeming to care that he's blowing smoke right into my face. “Like what? Did I have another option ten years ago?”

His eyes are neither hard nor cold; just empty. I don't understand why he's suddenly looking to me for answers; I'm the younger brother and he never helped me understand my own shit. What comforting words could I possible have for him?

“I don't know,” I say softly. “But now. Don't you have other options now?”

“I thought I did, but...” He sucks hard on the cigarette, his cheeks hollowing, like he's trying to force back whatever words he almost said. “Should have learned my lesson by now.”

My brow furrows as I stare up at him. Once again, Taylor's train of thought has jumped the tracks and gone off in a direction I couldn't have predicted and don't understand.

He does that not quite laugh again. “I can hardly leave her when she's pregnant again, can I? And she knows that.”

It feels like all the air has been stolen from my lungs, and I don't think I can blame Taylor's cigarette for that, although it definitely isn't helping. Pregnant? Again? I'm not delusional enough to think that Taylor was actually sleeping with everyone in the world _but_ his wife, despite all the times it's seemed that way. So this shouldn't come as such a surprise, but it does.

When I find my bearings again and look back at Taylor, it seems that he's shrunk back into that scared child I saw at his first wedding. His lip trembles ever so slightly and I fear he's going to let the cigarette fall. “It's not like I don't know how this keeps happening or that I... well. Anyway. She didn't want to tell anyone because she's just a few weeks along, but so much for that. They'll all know soon enough.”

Even though he hasn't gotten remotely near the word _sorry_ , it somehow feels like all his rambling is supposed to be an apology. I don't really understand what he's apologizing for – getting his wife pregnant? The kiss? The blow job? I don't know and my stupid mouth won't let me ask. Instead, I'm the one who apologizes. “I'm sorry, Tay.”

“It's definitely not your fault,” he says, and for a brief second, I think I see the sparkle return to his eyes. 

“I know, but...” My hand twitches at my side, aching to reach out and touch Taylor, somewhere, anywhere, as though it can express how I feel better than my words can.

He holds up a hand to stop me. “Don't. It's just my life, you know? I should be used to not getting what I want.”

In an instant, the hard, cold look is back in his eyes. He sucks down the rest of his cigarette without a word, each exhale short and angry like he's trying to purge something from his body along with the smoke. I stare at the ground in front of my feet, knowing that even if I did have any more words for him, they wouldn't matter. 

Taylor throws the cigarette, which is now hardly more than a smoldering filter, onto the ground with such force I almost jump back. His grinds it into the ground with his shiny dress shoes and all I can think is how Natalie will surely chastise him for the scuffs. I can predict her behavior almost as easily as I can predict Kate's, but I still didn't see this-–this pregnancy and vow renewal that seem to form a plot to keep Taylor in her web. 

He coughs hard and takes a few steps toward the building, then turns back to me. “The florist should be here soon. I think it's your job to get all the bouquets and boutonnieres and shit where they need to go.”

I nod and watch as he walks away. Only the slight slump of his shoulders gives away that he's not okay. To anyone else, he might just look a little tired, but I know. 

It's unbearably hot outside, but I know it'll be stifling in another way if I go back into the mansion. I decide to stay by my truck and watch for the florist; might as well make a passing attempt to do my job as best man. 

If I were a better man, I would have had some real advice for Taylor. I would have asked him how he can stay when he _knows_ what she's done and what she'll do every time he starts to stray farther than she's willing to overlook. 

And if I were a smart man, I'd ask myself how _I_ can stay when I'm not sure I'm any happier than Taylor is. In four years, our roles could easily be reversed. It's going to take all of my strength and whatever tiny bit of acting ability I have to walk down the aisle arm in arm with Kate today, and that's just in a supporting role. The thought of doing it all again, pledging myself and my life to her again, steals the breath from my lungs and leaves me clinging desperately to the side of my truck. I can't do it. I _won't_ do it.

There are always other options, I told Taylor. Maybe he can't walk away now, but I think I can. I don't have as much to lose, and I might have even more to gain.


	15. Champagne

I sleepwalk my way through the ceremony. Not literally, of course, but I might as well be asleep, as uninterested in watching the whole farce as I am. Even from my jaded point of view, I can see that a lot of care and planning went into this ceremony-–maybe even more than went into the original one, considering how rushed it was. 

Kate and I walk down the aisle arm in arm and there's something in her eyes that I can't quite place. I wonder if she's planning her own vow renewal, or if she knows that we won't make it that far. Once we part ways and stand on our respective sides of the altar, I try not to meet her eyes again. I don't know what she'll see in mine, but I can't help fearing that all my sins will be laid bare the second she looks.

Speaking of my sins, the first person I spot when I glance out at the guests is Carrick. I can't imagine he got a formal invitation, but here he is nonetheless. I don't mean to catch his eye, but I do, and he wiggles his fingers at me in the tiniest, most discrete wave ever. As usual, he stands out from the crowd without even trying, with his shaggy hair and black suspenders, and I can't help returning his smile.

Once the vows have been said and I've succeeded at not laughing all the way through them, the reception begins. It's spread out through the large rooms on the first floor of the mansion, with food in one room and the dance floor in another. There are a few seats scattered around, but most people are sitting at a handful of tables in another section of the lawn. That's where I find Kate once I've gotten myself a plate of finger foods and a large glass of wine.

She eyes the wine glass critically, but doesn't say a word, as I sit down next to her. She isn't drinking, of course; she never does. In theory, I quit before Shepherd was born. In practice, well, sometimes a guy just needs a drink. Or seven. Considering the conversation I'm afraid we're about to have, I don't think anyone would fault me for drinking half the open bar.

“Isn't it all beautiful?” Kate asks. When I don't give her more of a reply than a tiny nod, she adds, “We worked hard on it, you know.”

“I know,” I reply, picking at some shrimp thing on my plate. I'm not even hungry, but it keeps me from having to look at Kate.

“It makes you think, doesn't it?” She asks, running her finger around the rim of a glass I'm sure contains nothing but water. “If they can make it work, maybe anyone can.”

“But maybe not,” I reply, my voice so low I almost don't even hear myself.

Kate nods. I get the distinct impression that she knew what my answer would be before she even asked. She's not clueless. She may not know my deepest, darkest secrets, but she still knows enough to see that we're not Taylor and Natalie – not even this fantasy version of them that everyone at this damn reception seems to have bought into. 

“Maybe not,” she echoes, eying me carefully, critically. “I've been thinking about going back to Georgia for a while.”

I nod. “That might be a good idea.”

“I think it is. We can sort all this out when I get back,” she replies, waving a hand between the two of us, as if otherwise I might not have caught her meaning.

It's so strange to realize we're on the same page that all I can do is nod again and say, “Okay.”

With a tiny nod of her own, she stands up and walks away. I stare down at the wine glass I've apparently managed to empty during this conversation. It feels oddly like she was putting me through some kind of test, and I'm not sure whether I passed or failed. I'm going to call it a pass, and I think more alcohol is the perfect way to celebrate.

I set the empty glass down and make my way inside to what I suppose is normally the mansion's dining room, but now holds a makeshift bar. I shouldn't be surprised to see Carrick already standing by it, his long hands wrapped around a glass that I'm sure isn't just soda. Deciding that wine really isn't going to get the job done fast enough, I walk up to the bar and flash Carrick and the bartender both a smile.

“I'll have whatever he's having,” I say, taking a weird sort of pleasure in saying such a cliche line.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Carrick's eyes on me, his lips turned up in a smirk. The bartender hands me the glass and I spin around to face Carrick. We clink our glasses together, as though we'd planned this whole thing, and simultaneously take a sip. Rum and Coke, I discover. 

“Such a touching ceremony, don't you think?” He asks, and I'm almost too distracted by the droplet of soda on his lip to catch the sarcasm in his voice.

“Oh, absolutely,” I reply with a chuckle before taking a larger sip of my drink. 

“Is that why we're drinking?” His tone of voice has softened; he's fallen back into the overprotective best friend role.

“Surprisingly, no,” I say. “Celebrating the fact that I think me and Kate just agreed to get a divorce.”

Carrick's eyes widen with surprise, but I think I can see a hint of relief and happiness in them as well. He takes a big sip of his own drink, and I get the distinct impression that he's trying to keep himself from saying something. I'm just not sure what.

We finish our drinks in silence, both turning back to the bartender for another at exactly the same time. The crowd around us seems to be making their way out to the lawn, which can I only assume means something interesting is happening out there. I flash Carrick a look and he shrugs. Drinks in hand, we make our way outside and sit down at the nearest empty table.

A table holding a cake decorated with soft pink flowers has been rolled out into the middle of the crowd. Taylor and Natalie stand behind it, a wide smile on her face and a grimace on his. It's funny; I always thought Taylor liked to be the center of attention, but Natalie is far worse. She's the only person I've ever seen successfully steal his spotlight, but rather than be upset with her, he just seems resigned to it these days.

They slide a knife into the cake, their hands laced together, and pull back two tiny little slices. Natalie's eyes are trained carefully on Taylor's as they feed each other the cake; she's daring him to even smear the tiniest bit of icing across her face. I wouldn't be surprised if they've practiced this at home to be sure it's the picture perfect moment. As everyone claps on cue, a waiter swoops in to slice the rest of the cake up for the guests.

Troops of waiters and waitresses are weaving their way through the crowd with trays full of champagne glasses. Carrick and I each grab one, even though we've already got our other drinks. I'm a little surprised that they're doing a champagne toast; they didn't do one the first time around because of the baby and the fact that neither of them was of age. I watch carefully as they twine their arms together, and I wonder if I'm the only guest who knows that probably isn't real champagne in Natalie's glass.

I tilt my head back and down the bubbly stuff in one gulp, chasing it with the rest of my rum and coke. Carrick's eyes fill with concern and I just stare back at him, daring him to say a single word. He doesn't. He seems frozen on the spot, and I take the opportunity to pry the glass from his hand and drink it down as well.

Carrick shakes his head, but still doesn't say a word. He's not really in any position to judge my substance abuse, is he? I don't even feel drunk, anyway. Well, I don't feel _that_ drunk. A waiter walks by and offers us both a piece of cake, and we both decline. I'm still holding onto Carrick's empty glass, wishing it weren't.

“Zac...” Carrick says with a sigh. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” I don't meet his eyes when I say it, because then he'll know it's a lie.

“No, you're not,” he replies. Apparently he doesn't even need to look me in the eyes to know when I'm lying now. Awesome.

“I'll be fine,” I reply, trying to peer through the crowd and spot Taylor, but I don't see him. “I just need to...”

I don't even feel like finishing the sentence. Instead, I let it trail off as I pull myself out of my chair, which takes a surprising amount of effort. It's possible I am drunk. I slam the empty glass down on the table before stumbling away, intent on finding Taylor. I'm not even sure why I need to find him, but I know I do.

But he's nowhere to be found. At his height, he'd be easy to spot in the crowd, yet I don't see him anywhere. I'm so focused on finding him that I nearly collide with a waiter. I mumble an apology to him, then grab another glass of champagne from his tray and down it quickly. Isaac passes by me a few seconds later and tells me that he thinks he saw Taylor go inside.

Perfect. Inside-–that's where the bar is.

I still don't see him, though. I wander through all the rooms, winding my way through people eating, dancing and just generally standing around in my way. Frustrated, I head to the bar and order yet another rum and coke. Drinking this much probably isn't a good idea, but I'm far past caring. Even though my mind is filling with fog, I can still see clearly Natalie and Taylor in my mind, can still picture how Taylor looked like he wanted to run away.

Of course. He can't leave, but he's hiding. I chug the rest of my drink and walk away from the bar with a new sense of determination. 

I only stumble twice on my way up the stairs, which I think is pretty good considering all the alcohol swimming in my bloodstream right now. The door to the bedroom where we all got dressed that morning is open just a crack, and I push it open further. Just as I suspected, Taylor is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands.

“Tay?”

He doesn't even glance up at me, but I'm undeterred. Not yet. Closing the door behind me, I cross the room quickly and take a seat next to him. He flinches ever so slightly, but doesn't push me away or tell me to leave. It's a big risk to take, but I can't stop myself from wrapping an arm around him, a little lower down on his back than I probably should. But who am I kidding? Drunk or sober, I can't stop myself from touching Taylor.

Taylor leans against me, his head resting on my shoulder. I don't think I would even know what to say right now if I _was_ sober, so I just rub his back gently and wait for him to make the next move or say the next words.

I don't know what I'm expecting from him, but it definitely isn't his lips on my neck. As soon as his lips touch my skin, I gasp. “Taylor?”

“Please,” he whispers against my neck. 

I'm not even sure what he's asking for, how much he wants from me, but I know I can't tell him no, no matter what. For once, I want him to get what he wants. I hook a finger under his chin and lift his face so that I can kiss him on the lips. He tastes faintly of champagne, but I'm sure he's sober-–unlike me. I'm pretty sure I'm too far gone for this kiss to be very good, but he doesn't seem to mind. He kisses me back hungrily, his hands clutching at fistfuls of my shirt. 

I ease him backward on the bed until we're both laying down, Taylor pinned gently beneath me. His dress shirt is already open, revealing the white tee beneath it, and I run my hands over his chest as we kiss. He seems to hang on my every touch, his body arching toward my hands, and I want to give him more. 

I'm pretty sure it's a really stupid idea to attempt this for the first time while I'm drunk, but I don't care. I slide my hand down his chest, bringing it to rest between his legs. His hips fly up off the bed, pushing his hard-on into my hand. At least I don't need to second guess whether or not he wants this. 

If he didn't already know I was drunk, the way I fumble to get his fly open should be a dead giveaway. Finally, though, I free him from his pants and boxers, and slither down so that I'm staring right at his dick. What the hell am I even doing? If I were sober, I would be absolutely terrified right now. But I'm not, so instead of jumping up and running away, I lean down and run my tongue along his length.

It tastes good. Really, really good. I don't have any sort of technique here; I just want to _taste_ him. I want him to always moan and whimper the way he is right now, and I want to know it's because of me. His thighs are trembling beneath me as I bob my head up and down. He presses his fingertips into my shoulder so hard I'm afraid he might leave bruises. 

“Zac, I'm gonna...”

The sentence trails off into a whimper, but I know what he means. His grip on my shoulder tightens even more and his hips buck up off the bed as he comes. It's not exactly a pleasant taste, but it's Taylor, so I want every drop of it. I swallow it all-–it's not that difficult, really–-then give him one last lick before tucking him back into his pants.

I crawl back up his body slowly, afraid of what might happen next. Whenever he initiates this kind of thing, he runs away afterward. He's not running now, though. He just sighs and kisses my forehead. I curl into his side, suddenly feeling very, very sleepy. Maybe I'll just take a little nap.


	16. Shame

I wake up to the feeling of something cold and wet on my forehead. It takes my eyes a second to focus, but when they do, I see Taylor kneeling in front of me, concern written all over his face. Nothing about this makes sense – not the washcloth on my face, the bathroom floor underneath me or Taylor's face.

“What... what?” I manage to croak out, my throat aching with each word. That, combined with the whole bathroom floor thing is adding up in my mind and I don't like the sum of it. I didn't think I was that drunk, but... well, it's a distinct possibility.

Taylor gives me the tiniest smile in the world, and I get the feeling it's more from relief than actual happiness. “You just passed out on me for a second there. Been knocking 'em back tonight, huh?”

I nod, and my head feels too heavy for my shoulders, so I let it fall back against the tiled wall of the bathroom. I remember now. I wanted a nap. And now I want another one.

“Hey, no. Don't do that,” Taylor says, his hand firm on the back of my head, pulling me back from the wall. 

I attempt to pout at him for interrupting my nap, but my stomach does this really awful twisty-turny thing. “Tay... how much would Natalie kill me if I barfed all over this suit?”

His jaw twitches a little at her name, but he runs his fingers through my hair softly as he nudges me toward to toilet. Yeah, those shrimp thingies I ate earlier are definitely about to make another appearance-–if they didn't already while I was, apparently, blacked out. I really, really hate it when I get _that_ drunk.

Within seconds, I'm praising the porcelain gods. Taylor makes a hasty escape; he's always had a pretty weak stomach like that. Sometimes I wonder how he can even handle the amount of puke and general grossness that four–-soon to be five–-kids can generate. In the same vein, I wonder how he's managed to take care of my drunk ass so far.

Before too long, my stomach is empty-–possibly of everything I've eaten in the entire last _week_ -–and I'm just clinging to the toilet bowl, heaving uselessly. The bathroom door is open just a crack and I can hear voices from the other side of it, but I can't place them. They're talking in hushed tones, but I think one of them is probably Taylor. I must still be pretty drunk even now, though, because the two voices just sound like the teachers on Charlie Brown. 

I flush the toilet and then muster all of my strength to pull myself up to my feet. They feel like lead, but at least they've seen fit to let me stand. But when I try to walk, I still get that swimming upstream through jello sort of feeling. It feels like it takes me ages to reach the door, pull it open and take the first few steps back into the bedroom. I don't even bother looking for the source of those voices; instead, I just stumble headfirst onto the bed.

“Zac, hey,” a voice says, and it doesn't sound like Taylor's, but I still can't place it. The hand on my shoulder feels more familiar, though.

“C-Carrick?” I turn my head slowly to look at him, another wave of nausea coursing through me as I do.

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me up. My body still feels totally boneless, and Carrick's stronger than he looks, so I'm pretty much a ragdoll in his arms. How in the hell did I get this drunk, anyway? I know I drank a lot on a pretty empty stomach, but I can't remember the last time I drank to the point of blacking out. I'm not exactly surprised that it happened tonight, though. If there ceremony itself wasn't enough, there was the news Taylor unloaded on me beforehand. Then, of course, there was the blow job, too.

Wait, _what_?

That brand new memory comes flooding back into my mind all at once. I slump in Carrick's arms, falling back onto the bed, but he's all too quick to lift me back up to a sitting position. I can't even bear to look him in the eyes. I wonder if he knows what I did, if Taylor told him. If he knew, I can't imagine he would be here, holding me up like he is.

“You still with us?” Carrick asks, concern and a hint of amusement in his voice. Yeah, he definitely doesn't know about what I did to Taylor.

And I know it's awful of me, but I'd really like to keep it that way. I lift my head slowly and give him the smallest nod ever. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. I'm alright.”

“Sure you are. Let's get you home, okay?”

Taylor's been standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed the whole time. He doesn't even meet my eyes when Carrick helps me to my feet and I shoot him a glance. I feel like he's judging me and I don't even know why; it's not like I did anything _he_ hasn't done. I glance away from him, not even bothering to say goodbye, as Carrick and I walk out of the room.

Carrick keeps his arm wrapped securely around my waist all the way to the bottom of the stairs, then lets it fall away casually. I swear I can still feel it there, the warmth of it burned into my skin, and it might be the only reason I'm even still standing. 

The party seems to be winding down, though, so no one is really even around to see us making our way through the rooms. How long was I out anyway? Apparently a long damn time. The dance floor is practically empty and Ike's holding up the bar, as usual, but otherwise there's really not a lot happening. I don't see Natalie or Kate at all, and that suits me just fine.

Once we're out of the mansion and in the even more empty parking lot, Carrick slips his arm around my waist again. His other hand reaches into his pocket, and he pulls out a set of keys that look suspiciously like mine. I wonder when and how he got those. Oh well. It's clearly best for him to do the driving right now, so it doesn't really matter.

We drive around for way too long; Carrick hasn't quite learned his way around Tulsa yet and I'm apparently still too drunk to give remotely accurate directions. It's like the blind leading the blind, except it's the shitfaced leading the new-in-town, and I'm frankly shocked when we finally roll up to the curb in front of his house.

I stumble out of my truck and trip on the curb like the fucking sloppy drunk I am, but somehow Carrick is already there, pulling me back to my feet. How the hell did he get there so fast? Maybe I was just moving in slow motion. Anything seems possible right now. Maybe he's a superhero.

“Hey, Carrick,” I say as he guides me up the walk. “If you were a superhero, what would your superpower be?”

He shakes his head and laughs as he struggles to hold me up and get his key in the door. “I don't know. Never thought about it.”

“Really? Never?” I ask as he guides me through the house. “I think about it all the time. I mean, I kinda look like Thor, but being a demi-god is pretty boring. Blah, blah super strength, giant hammer, whatever...”

Carrick chuckles. “Just because you're drunk, I'm not going to make the 'giant hammer' joke.”

I laugh a little harder at that than I should, especially considering he didn't actually make the joke. Between my drunken feet of lead and the laughter, I don't even know how the two of us make it to the top of the stairs at all. 

As soon as we're through the door to Carrick's room, I dive straight into the bed. I'll let him worry about taking my clothes off. If I weren't in this condition, that would sound like a pretty exciting prospect. But I can't imagine Carrick's in the mood to fool around with my pathetic, drunk ass, and I'm definitely not in the mood. 

I don't even want to meet Carrick's eyes as he tugs my dress shirt and pants off and tosses me a t-shirt and sweatpants to sleep in. I wonder what he must think of me right now. There's no way in hell I'm asking him if he knows about me and Taylor. I'm sure I don't even need to say a word for him to see the shame written all over my face, though.

Carrick is unusually quiet, which is definitely not a good sign. He barely even glances my way before walking out of the room. The sound of the bathroom faucet running hits my ears a few seconds later, and I curl up under the covers. Even though it's summer and we're on the second floor, this bed feels awfully cold without him next to me. I don't like it.

He's only gone for a few minutes, though. I'm facing the wall but I still feel the bed sink slightly under his weight. He doesn't get too close to me, his body warmth still near enough that I can feel it, but a few very noticeable inches between our bodies. 

“Carrick,” I whisper, not even sure what I want to say to him.

“Just get some sleep, okay?” There's an edge to his voice, like his patience is running out. Why did he even volunteer-–or did he?-–to take care of me if he didn't want to?

I don't dwell on that for very long, though. There's just enough alcohol still humming in my veins that I'm lulled to sleep in mere minutes. The only times I ever sleep well are when I'm drunk and when I'm next to Carrick, so the night passes by quickly. 

I don't wake rested, though. I wake with a raging headache–-scratch that, full body ache–-and awful nausea. My stomach feels horribly empty, though, so I know there's no need to even run to the bathroom. I roll over and find the bed empty, but I'm not greeted by the smell of breakfast the way I was the first night I stayed here.

A tiny part of me is curious to know where Carrick is, but an even larger part of me is too full of shame to even care about seeing him. I scoop up my suit from the floor and make myself a promise that I'll return the tee and sweatpants to him whenever I feel like less of a jackass. 

For now, though, I feel like a huge jackass. Sneaking out of his house only makes me feel worse, but I never claimed not to be a coward. 

A jackass and a coward. Yeah, that's me.


	17. Everything and Something

Kate did it. She really did it. The very day after the vow renewal, she packed suitcases for her and the kids, and left for Georgia. In another part of town, I knew Taylor and Natalie were packing their bags, dropping the kids off with Mom and Dad, and starting the long drive to Florida for their second honeymoon at the beach.

All that amounted to me being alone. Completely alone.

But I'm just throwing a pity party for myself and I know it. I'm not really alone. Carrick is still here. Hell, even Ike and Austin are here, if I really felt inclined to hang out with them. I don't, particularly, and I feel even less inclined to see Carrick after the way I sneaked out of his house.

So for two days, I sit on my ass, play video games and eat junk food. I always imagined that being able to do nothing but that would be the best life ever, but it really isn't. I refuse to call Carrick, though. I feel like such an ass and I _know_ I need to apologize or explain or something, but the thought of actually trying to only makes me feel worse.

He'll understand, right? He has to understand. But what if he doesn't? What if I've lost my wife and my best friend all through my own stupidity?

It's that fear that finally pushes me to pick up my phone and begin typing a text message to Carrick. I type and erase the message at least ten times, never coming up with anything that really seems to fit the situation. It doesn't matter, though, because a knock comes at the door when I'm in the middle of erasing draft number eleven.

It has to be Carrick. Who else could it be?

I shuffle to the door a little reluctantly; after all, I still have no clue what to say to him. And for all I know, Carrick came over just to punch me in the face and run. It's not like I wouldn't deserve it. But when I swing the door open, he doesn't really look mad. He doesn't really look like anything at all – just himself, standing on my door step with his hands in his pockets.

“Are you busy?” He asks, frowning a little like he already knows it's a dumb question.

I shake my head and hold the door open wider so he can come in. There's an obvious tension and awkwardness between us as Carrick walks past me and takes a seat on the couch. I sit next to him, but not nearly as close as I want to because I doubt he wants me that near. He leans back against the couch and puts his arm over the back of it and it seems a little forced.

“So, we've been working on this new song,” he says. “Austin had the lyrics and I've been working on the beat. You should hear it.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Did you really come over to talk about music?”

“Not really.”

“So let's talk,” I say, completely in spite of myself. Talking to Carrick about anything that really matters is the last thing I want to do, but maybe it's better to do it and get it over with, like ripping off a bandaid.

Carrick's face softens a little, like he's finally starting to feel comfortable here in my house or with me. “Alright. Why don't you talk first?”

“I'm sorry you had to babysit my drunk ass the other night,” I say. Maybe if I start with an apology, he'll be more sympathetic and less likely to hate me.

“I will always babysit your drunk ass. Don't worry about it.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn't have to,” I reply, sighing a little. “I'm a mess, Carrick. And you shouldn't have to clean it up.”

“If I don't, who will?” He says it with a little smile, but it still kind of hurts. I know he's not wrong, though. I've always counted on other people – Kate, Taylor, him – to clean up my messes, but lately I've burned so many bridges that I don't really have anyone else to count on. And I wasn't even sure I still had him. That leads me to my next question.

“Why don't you hate me?”

Carrick tilts his head to the side a little, his brow furrowing in confusion, as though it never even occurred to him that he _should_ hate me.

“I mean, I don't _want_ you to hate me,” I say, attempting to clarify, but only earning a deeper head tilt from Carrick. “I'm definitely not trying to make you hate me. I just keep doing stupid things that really should.”

“Like what?”

Oh. I had just assumed that he knew what I did to Taylor but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he doesn't know. And maybe I just shoved my foot halfway down my throat. Carrick stares so intently at me that I can't even look away, and it's obvious that he knows I did _something_ , but he's waiting with an uncharacteristic patience for me to tell him what it was. 

“Like... something I shouldn't have done with Taylor.”

There's a hint of surprise in Carrick's eyes, but his nod suggests that while he didn't know, he suspected it. I'm nothing if not predictable when it comes to Taylor. I hang my head in shame, finding that I don't even have the will to look him in the eye and tell him what I did.

“I'm guessing this happened at some point before I had to peel you off the bed and practically carry you home?” 

I nod, my head still down. And, because I'm not looking his way, I jump a little when Carrick puts his hand in my shoulder.

“Doesn't matter what you did, Zac,” he says, his voice soft and low. “Why would that make me hate you?”

I glance up slowly. “Well, I thought we were... something... and then I did that with Taylor...”

“Zac,” he says with a little chuckle. “We might be something, if that's what you want. But I'm not asking or expecting any kind of loyalty that you can't give me, whether it's because of Taylor or...”

“Or because I'm married.”

He nods. “I know where I stand in all of this. And I'm okay with that.”

You shouldn't have to be okay with it, though.”

Carrick just shrugs, and I don't know what else to say, because even if it's not fair to him, I can't change it. I can't make my marriage end any faster and I can't make these feelings for Taylor go away. God knows I would if I could. I don't even know what there is left of me to give to Carrick, but I know that whatever little it is, it's his. And I think – no, I hope – he knows that, too.

Because I don't have any other words, I do the only other thing I can think of. I kiss him.

He stiffens against me, frozen on the spot, but in a second he relaxes and kisses me back. He's been growing this stubbly little beard lately and it tickles, a constant reminder that I'm kissing a man. But it's not the worst thing I've done with another man and I really don't want to think that _that_ right now. I only want to think about Carrick and his lips and the way his hand is rubbing my back.

I guess I'm just greedy, because that's not enough for me. I want more of him. I scramble into his lap, nudging him back against the arm of the couch. He's stretched out underneath me, barely even fitting along the length of the couch, and I want to kiss every inch of his ridiculously tall body. I start with his jaw, then his neck, leaving a trail of kisses all along the neckline of his shirt.

He's really quiet and still beneath me, and I'm not sure if that's a good sign. When I grab a handful of his shirt and start to pull it up, he gives a little sigh and places his hand over mine.

“Carrick?” I ask, tilting my head up to look at him.

He nudges my hand back down, covering up what little of his chest I had managed to reveal. “Let's not do this right now, okay?”

“I thought you wanted me?” I sound pathetic, and I feel even worse.

“I do,” he replies. “You know that. But I don't know what _you_ want.”

I sigh and sit up, putting a little space between us. I hate that he turned that question around on me, but I know he has a point. Lately it seems like all I do is want. I want everything and everyone. I want a happy marriage. I want Taylor to end the charade his marriage has become, and I want him to let me love him without either of us running away afterward. And now, apparently, I want Carrick, too.

Carrick scoots closer again and rubs my back. “You don't have to make any big decisions right now. In fact, you probably shouldn't.”

“If not now, when?”

“You don't have to do everything at once, Zac,” he says. “That's what I'm trying to say. All this that's going on with Taylor, and now Kate, too... I'll still be here when it blows over. You don't have to worry about that.”

“I'm not worried about that.”

“Then you ought to know you don't have to jump my bones every chance you get,” Carrick replies, the little smirk that crosses his lips contrasting with his soft tone of voice.

“Just every other time?” I ask, giving him a smirk of my own in return.

Carrick laughs, his nose scrunching up and the little wrinkles around his eyes becoming just a bit more noticeable. He really is beautiful; I knew that long before it ever occurred to me that what I felt for him was more than just friendly. Now that I've given in to that feeling, it seems I can only see more and more reasons to love him. 

It should scare me a little to think that word, but it doesn't. I _have_ loved him, even if in a different way than that, for years. It makes a weird sort of sense to realize that I'm maybe sort of in love with him, too. 

“I think every other time sounds like a good plan,” he finally replies, wrapping his arm around my back and pulling me to his side. “But not tonight, okay? That's not why I came here.”

“You mean this isn't a booty call?”

“I'm being serious here,” he replies, still grinning a little in spite of himself.

“Sorry,” I reply, trying to force the grin off my own face.

“I want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

I nod. I do know that. Carrick has proven time and time again that he only has my best interests at heart, even when I wish he didn't.

“I'm just not sure that, right now, you know what's really gonna make you happy.”

I bite my lip, letting his words sink in. Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't need everything at once, even if I want it. It's hard to deny myself something that feels so good and so right, even if he says he isn't going anywhere. Taylor's vanishing acts have me so accustomed to happiness being just a fleeting thing that I want to cling to whatever little bit of happiness I can get. And right now, Carrick's tempting me with more than just a little happiness.

I snuggle up a little closer to him. “Promise you're not going anywhere?”

“Promise.”

It doesn't answer all the questions I've got, but for right now, it's enough.


	18. Real Bacon

Like he promised, Carrick doesn't go anywhere. For days, he stays here at my house, not pointing out the ways that my life is falling apart, but picking up a few of the pieces anyway. He cooks me the only real meals I've had since Kate left, picks up the dirty socks that just seem to materialize in the floor all on their own, and holds me at night while I try to sleep and mostly fail.

It's just four days, but it's a routine that I really wish we could stick to forever. Neither of us points out the fact that it has to end eventually. In fact, we don't really talk much at all. It's easier that way, I guess.

I kind of feel like I'm taking advantage of Carrick, but I know that he would never tell me if I was. He would just let me, over and over again, and never complain about it. Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better.

The first morning that I wake up and don't feel his long arms wrapped around me, I toss and turn, searching the bed for him. He's not there, though. Has he finally gotten tired of waiting on me? The smell of coffee and bacon – real bacon, not that soy stuff he eats – answers that question for me. He's still here, still attending to my every need.

I pull myself out of the bed and pad to the bathroom down the hall. I don't know how early it is, but it's definitely still morning and I am not a morning person. I snarl at my reflection in the mirror, trying to figure out what Carrick could even see in me. Since we've been off tour, fat has begun to collect around my stomach again. I grab a shirt from the floor and pull it over my head, covering up all that pudge. Carrick knows it's there, of course. He spent the whole night with his arms wrapped around it, after all. But I feel better now that I'm not staring at it. There's nothing I can do about the dark circles under my eyes or any of the other myriad flaws I can see reflected back at me. 

Good enough for now, I decide. I'll worry about my greasy hair and stubbly face after breakfast. 

I make my way down the stairs and to the kitchen, the smell and sound of bacon simmering driving me to move faster than I usually would so shortly after getting out of bed. Carrick cooking actual bacon is something I just have to see to believe, though. Sure enough, there he stands in front of the stove, a spatula in his hand and a pair of my pajama pants barely clinging to his waist. 

He glances over his shoulder and gives me a tiny grin. “I was hoping to surprise you.”

“Breakfast in bed?” I ask, grinning back at him as I walk to the refrigerator and pull out a carton of orange juice. I lean over Carrick to grab a glass from the dish drainer, and a shiver passes through me even though our bodies barely touch at all. I wonder if he feels it too.

If he does, he doesn't let it show. He just smirks. “Yeah, something like that. But since you're not in bed now, you've ruined that plan.”

I give him a little pout. “I can go back to bed.”

“Just sit down,” Carrick replies, chuckling, and I comply, my glass of orange juice in hand.

I take a seat at one of the bar stools where I can watch Carrick cook. He's frying a few eggs – he doesn't even need to ask how I take mine – to go with the bacon I know he won't eat. I feel a sudden wave a guilt pass over me; he's cooked me breakfast so many times lately and usually not under the best circumstances. When am I going to get my shit together and stop making other people take care of me? I want to offer to help, but he's practically done now, anyway, shoveling a huge portion of bacon and eggs out onto a plate for me.

“Thanks,” I manage to croak out, feeling like absolute shit when Carrick passes me the plate with a smile.

A moment later he joins me at the counter, his own fried egg sandwiched in between the halves of a bagel. I didn't even know I had bagels. Kate must have bought them. So many stupid little things like that just wouldn't get done around here without her. I hate that realization, but it's true. I'm such a mess. My immaturity is a joke to everyone and I know it, but I can't seem to find the punchline now that I'm facing the prospect of really being alone and having to take care of myself.

“You alright?” Carrick asks. 

I realize that I'm just staring off into space, holding up a piece of bacon. Carrick must think I look like an idiot. Once again, I wonder why he puts up with me.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” I reply, shoving the bacon in my mouth before I have to answer any more questions.

Carrick raises an eyebrow but doesn't question me – at least, not with words. But I can tell that he doesn't believe that I'm okay, and he's right not to. I don't think I could explain to him just how worthless I feel right now, though, without only feeling even worse for having voiced that feeling. He won't push me, though. He never does.

Neither one of us really says anything at all while we eat our breakfast. It's a little bit of an awkward silence, but I don't know how to fix it. I've got to let Carrick know that I appreciate him and that I know I'm a worthless asshole for depending on him so much. He probably already knows the latter, though.

When he finishes his bagel and egg sandwich, I scoop up his plate before he even has a chance to think about doing the dishes himself. It isn't much, I know, but it's my own damn house and I ought to be able to do the dishes myself. It's not like I'm totally incapable of functioning like a normal adult; it's just that I usually choose not to, and there's always someone else there to pick up my slack. What if there isn't, though? What if Kate really leaves? I'll still have Carrick in some way, I'm sure, but maybe it's time for me to finally grow up a bit.

I stick my leftover bacon – for once, I couldn't eat all the food put in front of me – in the microwave and toss Carrick's plate in the sink, along with the other dishes he's dirtied. I can do this. I can totally wash my own dishes, and I don't even care that I'm acting like it's a bigger deal than just a minor little household chore.

“Look at you,” Carrick says, walking over to the sink with his glass of juice. He finishes the last few sips, then tosses the glass in with the other dishes and smirks. “Being all domestic.”

It's a subtle acknowledgment that lets me know that he understands exactly what I'm trying to do. I just give him a sheepish little smile and turn on the hot water, almost enjoying the way it feels like needles on my hands. It's like some little form of atonement, I guess. I'm definitely making this into a bigger thing than it this, but I don't care. This is just the first tiny little step in the right direction.

“So, what's on the agenda for today?” Carrick asks.

I glance up from the pan I'm scrubbing and give him a shrug. “Nothing, as far as I know. Video games and vegging out, I guess.”

“Sounds like yesterday's agenda.”

“Yeah, well, I'm on vacation,” I reply, sounding more annoyed with him than I meant. I know he's not criticizing me for doing nothing all day, but I guess I'm just used to working and facing criticism from _someone_ if I'm not.

“I know,” Carrick replies, his voice soft. He reaches out and rubs my back gently. “And you deserve a vacation. I bet you haven't taken one since before your voice changed.”

I laugh, but he's right. I don't remember the last time, except for perhaps my honeymoon, that I genuinely had any time off from work at all. Sure, we've got a few concerts scheduled this summer and we'll really get to work on the new album once Taylor is back, but for now, this is as real as vacation gets for us. It feels strange. Good, but strange.

I finish the dishes and wipe my hands off on a dish towel before turning to face Carrick. “Did you want to do something different today?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want to do.”

That's a pretty noncommittal answer. He really is too good to me, and I wish I had a way to get through to him just how much I appreciate it. I take a few steps closer to him and tentatively place a hand on his waist. He doesn't push me away, so that's a good sign. We haven't really done more than kiss and cuddle a bit in the few days he's been here, and I don't know if he's waiting for me to take the lead or if he's the one making sure that things move slowly.

I'm tired of moving slowly.

“I think I know what I want to do today,” I say, not even caring that it's the cheesiest line ever. At least it earns me a laugh from Carrick, although it was probably just out of pity. Good enough for me.

Feeling a little bit bolder, I press Carrick against the counter, sandwiching his body between mine and it. He doesn't object to that, and I feel bolder still. How far is he willing to let me go? With one hand still on his waist, I trail the other down his face, cupping his chin and leaning in to kiss him. Still no resistance, but kissing is nothing new for us. Maybe I'm ready for something new, though.

I trail kisses across his jaw and down his neck, trying to stay alert to any change in him that would suggest he wants me to stop. He only relaxes slightly, his body becoming more pliant under me so that I'm forced to press him back against the counter more to keep him standing. It's strange to know I could have that effect on anyone, especially my best friend, but it only emboldens me more, makes me curious to see how much more I can do to him.

Those pajama pants Carrick stole from me are pretty thin and I'm not convinced that he's wearing anything under them, so I can already feel his dick pressing against me. I'm barely even doing anything to him at all, but I guess it's working. I let my teeth graze his neck, barely biting down on a spot that I hope is sensitive, and he's clutching at my shirt for dear life. If I had any doubts about my next move, they're all gone now.

Not even caring that the floor will hurt, I drop to my knees, the bare tile digging into my knees just as harshly as I expected. That's the least of my concerns, though. My only concern is right here in front of my face, with only a thin layer of blue plaid between me and it. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to take my time and do it right – not some rushed, sloppy job like I'm sure I did with Taylor.

I barely resist the urge to growl out loud at the thought of Taylor. He's the last thing I want on my mind when my lips are inches from Carrick's dick. I take a deep breath, force Taylor out of my mind, then lean in and press a kiss against the thin cotton. Carrick gives the tiniest whimper and that's the last little bit of encouragement I need. I grab the waistband of the pants and tug them down, realizing that this is the first time I've actually _seen_ Carrick's dick, for all that I've been close to it lately.

He's long – longer than I expected and maybe even as long as Tay. I'm trying really hard not to think about Tay, though, which is pretty easy since I was more than a little drunk when _that_ happened. I can't totally shake the thought of him, but I'm going to give it my best. Carrick nudges his hips ever so slightly forward, and that definitely helps to clear my mind of any thoughts other than him. I close the distance between our bodies, darting my tongue out to give his length one long lick from base to tip. 

The taste is better than I expected, and I want more. Just one lick and it seems I'm already insatiable. I suck him into my mouth, taking nearly all of his impressive length in one try. Not bad, I tell myself. Carrick seems to agree, since he's bucking his hips again, setting the pace for me. I don't mind that a bit. I was never good at leading when it comes to this sort of thing, and I'm more than a little out of my comfort zone now.

But this – this feels _good_. And I think it must feel just as good for him, judging by the little moans and whimpers that keep falling from his lips like music. I could do this for hours.

So, naturally, there has to be an interruption.

The phone rings, its shrill sound causing me to jump back and let Carrick fall from my mouth. Why the hell do I even have a landline, anyway? And who the hell could be calling it? It's not early, per se, but it's definitely before noon. There isn't a single person in my family – the only ones who know the landline number – who have enough of a death wish to call this early. Yet the phone is still ringing.

Carrick tucks himself back into the pajama pants, panting and giving me a questioning look. The phone hasn't quit ringing yet, so whoever it is must really need to talk to me. With a groan, I pull myself to my feet and walk to the wall where the phone hangs, still practically ringing itself off the hook.

I blink a few times at the little green screen, trying to figure out whose number I'm seeing. The name is withheld; it's just a number. It's not a Tulsa area code, and I have to wrack my brain to remember why that area code looks familiar. Finally it hits me.

Georgia.


	19. Georgia

I stare at the phone for so long that it actually stops ringing, but before I can even let out a breath, it begins to ring again. The same phone number with the same Georgia area code. That area code is burned into my memory after years of dialing it over and over again, making far too many long distance calls to Newnan, trying to keep up a long distance relationship when I barely even had a driver's license.

It's not Kate's parents, though, unless they've changed their number. I have no clue who it is, so I have no choice but to answer it to find out. Taking a deep breath, because for some reason I'm scared of whatever lies on the other end of that phone, I picked it up and press the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Zac. Did I wake you up?” 

It takes me a moment to realize the voice on the other end is Taylor. But he's supposed to be in Florida. I pull the phone back and look at the screen again, just to be sure. Definitely a Georgia area code. I put the phone back up to my ear.

“Tay?”

“Last time I checked,” he replies. “Sorry, I know it's an hour earlier there, but I wanted to call as soon as I got a chance.”

“What... why...” I stutter out, hearing all of his words correctly, but not getting any meaning out of them. “You're in Georgia?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, sighing a little. “Nat hasn't felt good all week, so we cut the beach stay a little short. We're back in Georgia at Matt's house now.”

Oh. That makes sense. Sort of. Natalie is always one to whine and complain about the littlest little pain or sickness, especially when she's pregnant. It's like she just can't let anyone forget the shape she's in or who got her there, so every little thing is cause for her to remind us of the new little Hanson growing inside her. I don't even know why she insisted on such a long trip to the beach in her condition; anyone could see that wasn't going to end well for a hypochondriac like her.

I don't say any of that to Tay, though. I couldn't. It's been years since I dared insult Natalie to his face. The last time I did, he bought her a ring and I learned my lesson.

“Are you guys going to stay there for a while?” I ask. It's the most I dare to pry at all.

“A day or two. Hopefully she feels better tomorrow.”

I can definitely hear the strain and the tiredness in his voice, and I know I should say something else, but I don't know have the words at all. I try to find something tactful or thoughtful or something to say, and I come up empty handed. Instead, I just ask, “So, why are you calling to tell me?”

If Tay hears how rude that sounds, he doesn't comment on it. “Couldn't get an answer at Mom and Dad's. I was hoping you could pass along the message that we're coming back early?”

It isn't a question, but it is. He knows I'll pass along the message because he's asked, and only because he's asked. I certainly wouldn't do Natalie any sort of favor. It may be a little cruel, but it's true and I think Taylor knows it.

It occurs to me that I should ask about Kate. That would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it? I wonder if she and Natalie have met up yet to talk about how awful I am. They can never stay away from each other for long, and they both love to gossip, so I can't help thinking that a strategic visit to Kate is part of Natalie's plan in getting sick. I wouldn't put it past her to be that devious. Again, though, I don't know how to tactfully ask the questions I really want to ask.

“Have you guys seen Kate?” I ask. It isn't exactly tactful, but it'll do.

There's a silence on the line like Taylor is trying to decide how to answer that question. That means he _has_ seen Kate, and just isn't sure what to say about it. There's no way that can possibly be good.

“Natalie called her,” he finally says. “We haven't seen her, but she's coming over later with the kids.”

Well, that isn't a very revealing answer. It really only leaves me with more questions, and not a single one that I actually want to ask. I sigh softly and shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next.

Taylor sighs as well. “Look, if you don't care, can you give Mom and Dad a call, or go over and check in on the kids and let them know about our change of plans?”

“Sure,” I reply. “I'll go over there as soon as we – I mean, as soon as I get dressed.”

Damn. I hope he didn't catch that little slip. It's not like I haven't been just as bad _with_ Taylor, but it feels wrong to let him know about Carrick. Even if she is halfway across the country, I'm still cheating on my wife with him. It almost seems more serious to admit that he's staying here with me than to admit the other things that happened before.

“Oh, well... take your time. I'm sure the kids are fine,” Taylor replies, his voice suddenly icy cold. 

Yeah, he definitely caught my little slip. Should I ignore it and pretend I didn't say it? Or should I try to apologize to him? Neither one seems like the right thing to do. Maybe there _isn't_ a right thing to do.

I can hear a female voice in the background, a little muffled like Taylor has his palm pressed over the phone. Natalie, I assume. A moment later, Taylor clears his throat.

“Umm, do you want me to pass any messages along to Kate?” He asks, and I'm sure he's been told to ask. He doesn't dislike her as intensely as I do Natalie, but that's not the sort of question Taylor would think of on his own.

“Tell her...” I reply, trying to think of anything at all. It should be a lot easier to think of something to say to my own wife. “Tell her I miss the kids?”

“Okay. I'll tell her.” 

Whether or not he actually will tell her, I don't know. I don't really care. It's such a pitiful message that I almost wish he would say nothing at all, or maybe make up something that makes me sound less like the world's worst husband. I chew on my lip, trying to think of something else to say that won't make me sound so horrible. I can hear voices in the background again, so maybe this torturous phone call is nearing an end.

“So, I'll see you in a couple days, I guess,” Taylor says. “Thanks for passing along the message...”

“No problem. See you later.”

I've never been so happy to end a phone call with Taylor as I am now. I hang the phone up, letting out a sigh of relief. There was just something so forced about it, like we're no longer capable of having a real conversation that goes past boring small talk. When did that happen? I guess it must be my fault. Like so many other things, I know what I've done but not how to fix it.

I'm not surprised at all to find, when I turn around, that Carrick has left the room. It couldn't have been a very interesting or pleasant conversation to listen to, even just from my side. I don't know where he might have gone, but I do know that I definitely need a shower, especially if I'm going to carry out my promise to Taylor. Once I'm clean, I can worry about finding Carrick. It's not like there are that many places he can hide in my house, anyway.

As soon as I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the shower running and I know that I don't need to search for Carrick at all. Considering everything else we've done, I don't hesitate at all before pushing the bathroom door open and walking in. The cloudy glass of the shower doors obscures my view a little, but I can still make out his lean, long figure. 

“Hey, Carrick,” I call out, raising my voice a little so that it carries over the pounding of the shower's spray. “Don't use all the hot water. I've got to shower, too, so I can go over to Mom and Dad's.”

He slides the shower door back and peeks his head out, giving me a little smirk. “You could shower with me, if that you're that worried about conserving water.”

I don't know if he's serious or not, but there's no way I can turn down an offer like that. Without a word, I begin stripping, my t-shirt and boxers quickly falling to the floor. Carrick slides the shower door back a little more, then steps back underneath the water. I step into the steamy shower, pulling the door closed behind me. Carrick's back is turned to me now, and I can't help seizing the opportunity to stare a little while he rinses his hair.

He really is beautiful. I've never thought that about another guy, besides Taylor, but Taylor is practically a species of his own. Male or female, he would still be just as breathtakingly beautiful. There's really nothing more manly about Carrick; in fact, they're kind of similar in that tall, thin sort of way. And there's just something magnetic about both of them. 

That magnetic pull draws me closer to Carrick now, stepping behind him and pressing my body against his under the shower's spray. He barely even jumps. Once again, he's anticipated my every move. His hips move ever so slightly back against me, but the rest of him is focused on washing his hair like I'm not even there.

When he reaches for the washcloth, I decide to beat him to the punch. I grab the soap before he can, and lather my hands up with it. Carrick chuckles a little and the sound vibrates through my body. He's not trying to stop me, though. I run my slippery hands over his chest, coating him with the vanilla scented suds. He leans back against me even more, and that's just the encouragement that I need. I slide my hand down his chest, swirling a few suds through his happy trail as I make my way south.

“Zac...” he gasps out, his head falling back so that his hair tickles my face.

“Yeah?” I ask, affecting the most innocent tone of voice I can manage. I'm pretty pleased with myself, considering that my hand is only millimeters from his cock.

“Shouldn't you... hurry up?” Carrick asks. “I mean, now that you've got plans for the day and everything...”

I can't stop myself from giggling a little at the thought that Carrick is calling me a tease. That's new. But if I'm a tease, that means he likes it. I let my hand slide down those last few millimeters until it's wrapped firmly around his cock. There are still a few suds left, providing a little lubrication so that I can jack him easily and quickly – maybe not as quickly as he'd like, but I think he can just deal with that.

He seems to be dealing quite well, in fact, leaning back against me so hard that I'd worry we were going to topple over if I didn't know I was far stronger than him. Or at least heavier. Either way, my feet are planted firmly on the shower floor and I've got one hand on Carrick's hip just to be sure that he doesn't fall while I bring him closer and closer to ecstasy. 

I don't even care how conceited that makes me sound. I know exactly the effect I'm having on Carrick; even if I didn't, his little moans and the way his body's going all limp would be pretty big hints. He's close – really close – and I don't feel like being such a tease anymore. I grasp his hips and spin him around, pinning him up against the tiled wall and falling to my knees in front of him. The shower floor hurts even more than the kitchen floor, but I still don't care. All I care about is Carrick and how much I want him in my mouth.

I don't even give him time to process what's happening before I suck him into my mouth, my hand covering what little bit doesn't fit. It doesn't take long for me to find a rhythm that has Carrick moaning and pushing his hips forward to match me, and I can't help taking my own dick into my hand and imitating that pace. The shower's spray is getting a little colder against my back, but I hardly notice anything but the way Carrick tastes. With a low moan that echoes off the walls around us, he comes, and I lap up every drop. Something about the taste of it, or maybe the sound of that moan, sends me over the edge too, my own orgasm quickly washed from my hand and swirling down the drain.

My shaky legs barely allow me to stand, and by the time I finally make it to my feet, I'm not sure if I'm holding Carrick up or the other way around. I lay my head against his shoulder and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Why don't we actually use this shower for its intended purpose now?” He asks.

I let out a laugh of my own. “If we must.”

“I do like you a little... dirty,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows on the last word. “But let's get you clean now, okay?”

When he puts it that way, I can't really find it in myself to argue. I wouldn't mind staying pressed against the shower wall with him forever, but that's far from practical. As much as I don't want to admit it, I think I've indulged myself a little too much lately. But, as Carrick slowly begins to massage shampoo into my hair, I decide that a little more indulgence might not be so bad.


	20. Home

I didn't ask Carrick to come with me to Mom and Dad's house, but I don't really mind that he seems to have invited himself along. In a way, I guess I need the reinforcement, the support that he provides, and as always, I'm more appreciative than I can really put into words. 

It isn't that long of a drive to their new house, but it's a drive I'm well accustomed to; the new house isn't far from where we lived before the fame. I didn't think it was all that wise to move into a house so close to the one our fans still treat as a tourist destination, but it's a nice neighborhood. I can see why they would want to move back there. 

Carrick is a like a little kid is the passenger seat, his nose practically pressed up against the window as he watches the streets roll by. I almost wish I could see it from his point of view; for someone who always jokes about how boring Tulsa is, he seems pretty enthralled by it now. If my stomach wasn't already knotting up with nervousness, I'd probably make some joke about it, but I don't really feel like joking anymore.

I shouldn't dread seeing my own parents, sister, niece and nephews, but that's what it seems to have come to. They'll have questions about Taylor and Natalie, I'm sure, and probably questions about Kate, too. They'll probably have even more questions about Carrick, but the good sense not to voice those. I can't even imagine what sort of answers I could give them, anyway. Like so many other times, this is just one of those things they'll turn a blind eye to for the sake of their sanity. I can't blame them.

I steer my truck down a familiar street and into a slightly less familiar driveway. Their new house is hardly even that much smaller than the one everyone called “the compound,” but it is far less conspicuous. The driveway curves up a small hill, and finally I reach the top of it and put my truck into park. Carrick glances out his window, then looks at me, evidently waiting for me to make the first move. With a sigh, I hop out of the truck and slam the door behind me. Seconds later, I hear Carrick's door slam and he walks around to stand at my side – close, but not close enough to raise any more of those awkward questions.

The front door is unlocked, so I hold it open for Carrick and he takes a few hesitant steps into the house. If I weren't so nervous myself, I would probably laugh at how, apparently, seeing my parents is the only thing in the world that can put a dent in Carrick's usual confidence. 

I hear the tell-tale sound of hammering from down the hallway, which means Dad has escaped the grandkids for a while and hidden himself away in his workshop. I nod in that direction and Carrick follows behind me. Peeking my head into the door reveals that I was right; Dad is bent over his workbench, hammering nails into... something. 

“Where is everyone?” I ask, my voice raised a bit to be heard over the din of his newest manly project.

Dad doesn't even jump; with a family as big as ours, unexpected interruptions don't even come close to fazing him. Hammer still in his hand, he glances at me over his shoulder. “Out on the porch, having lunch. Diana didn't mention you were coming over.”

“It wasn't really a planned visit,” I reply, trying to force a smile onto my face. “Just thought I'd come over and say hi.”

“Well, you might get some lunch if the kiddos haven't eaten us out of house and home yet,” he replies and a chuckle.

With a chuckle of my own, I bid Dad goodbye and nudge Carrick toward the stairs. He follows my lead, since he's never been here before; the last time he visited, they still lived at the compound. I head to the right at the top of the stairs, toward the screened in porch. The door between it and the dining room is open, letting the fresh grass scent of outdoors seep into the house. I step into the doorway and take a deep breath of it, then give Mom a smile.

“Oh, Zac!” She exclaims, glancing up from the small mess she's cleaning up that I'm guessing Viggo is responsible for. “Oh, and Carrick. What are you boys up to today?”

“Just checking in with you guys,” I say, leaning against the door frame. “Taylor called and said he's been trying to reach you guys all morning.”

Mom's smile doesn't falter. Why would it? She doesn't know how painful of a conversation it was for me. “Well, we've been playing outside all day. I guess I missed the phone. How are they enjoying that second honeymoon?”

“That's why he called, actually,” I reply, trying to sound cheerful. No need to upset anyone. “Natalie isn't feeling well, so they're coming home early. They're already in Georgia, so maybe as early as tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Penny squeals, her peanut butter and jelly sandwich falling back to her plate, completely forgotten in her excitement. She's a little blonde clone of Natalie – it's freaky, really – and she hates to be away from her side. 

“Maybe,” I tell her, then glance back at Mom. “Tay just wanted me to pass along the message.”

A tiny hint of clouds pass over Mom's eyes, there and gone so quickly that I'm not sure if I was just imagining it. When she looks back at me, though, her smile seems a bit forced. Standing up, she says, “Why don't you boys come in the kitchen and have some lunch while you're here?”

I know that diplomatic tone of voice. She wants to talk to me, but not in front of the kids. Which means she's probably going to ask about Kate. I know she included Carrick in the invitation just to be polite, but I'm very grateful to have him following behind me as we walk into the kitchen with her.

Despite being a totally different kitchen than I'm used to, it feels like home as soon as we walk through the doorway. The scent of Mom's homemade butterscotch Rice Krispie treats is one I always associate with home; it brings with it a sense of comfort and protection. It seems she always has a tin of it sitting on the kitchen counter, and it doesn't take me long to locate it here. I know I'll be snatching up a few pieces to take home before I leave.

Mom pays my drooling over her candy no mind, though, heading straight to the refrigerator and opening it. “Now, you boys can just help yourselves. We've got just about anything you need for sandwiches, and I made some potato salad that the kids didn't want, so you're welcome to that, too. Take it home with you if you want, Zac.”

“Thanks,” I reply, watching as Mom sets the container full of potato salad on the table before I can say anything else. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Hanson,” Carrick echoes, and I realize they're the first words he's said since we got there. He squeezes past me to look through the refrigerator himself, probably to give us some sense of privacy for whatever Mom wants to say to me.

“Now, you said Taylor and Natalie were back in Georgia?”

There it is. She might think she's being subtle, but I know where she's going with that question. Carrick is busying himself with a sandwich that I'm pretty sure is just a bunch of vegetables on bread, so I can't rely on him to get me out of this conversation. It's not that I don't want to talk to my mom; it's just that I don't want to talk to my mom about my failing marriage.

“Yeah, that's what he said,” I reply, looking down and tracing the swirling patterns of the wooden kitchen table with my finger.

“Have they talked to Kate?” She asks. 

I shrug. “I guess. Tay said she was coming over later, but they're staying with Matt.”

“Have _you_ talked to Kate?”

“Not since she left,” I reply, hating how pathetic and young my voice suddenly sounds. I want Carrick closer to me, but he's somehow managed to slip out of the room completely unnoticed. Can't say that I blame him. I wouldn't want to witness something this awkward if I were him.

“Well,” Mom says, grabbing my hand that's still wandering aimlessly around the table. She grasps it lightly, reassuringly. “I'm sure you two will work things out. She just needs a little space.”

She doesn't say it, but I know she's thinking about the days when Natalie would run back to Georgia at the littlest hint of a fight or disagreement. After a few years, Natalie's mom packed up and moved to Tulsa, making the whole process a lot easier and less dramatic. The fighting seemed to stop then, and I think most of the family assumed that meant things were better between Taylor and Natalie, or that Natalie had finally grown up a bit. I think she just didn't get the same thrill out of throwing a tantrum if she only had to drive across town to do it.

Kate was never like that, though. We fight without actually fighting; even if we're barely speaking, we do what we have to do to keep things together. I don't think anyone but us, and maybe Shepherd now that he's getting older, can even tell the difference. As much as Mom is trying to pretend that this trip to Georgia means nothing, I think everyone knows that isn't true. It's a big deal; it just remains to be seen _how_ big of a deal it is.

I can't find it in myself to argue with Mom, so I don't say anything at all. She doesn't either, instead pulling me into a hug and holding me against her, still wordless. She's trying to reassure me, and even without words, the message gets through. Even if things aren't okay, she'll still love me. At least, I'm sure she thinks that now. She might change her mind if she really knew me. Still, even at twenty six, there's something comforting about having my mom hold me. I don't even care how pathetic that makes me.

Finally, she pulls away and gives me a little smile, squeezing my arms. “I'll let you get to your lunch, then. You boys are welcome to stick around for a while. I'm sure the kids would love to spend some time with you.”

Coming from anyone else but Mom, that would sound like an attempted guilt trip. Taylor's kids love Uncle Zac and Uncle Carrick – as they've called him, for no apparent reason, since the first time he came to Tulsa – so of course we're going to hang around and play with them. I'll be surprised if they haven't already pulled Carrick into some game by the time I make it out of the kitchen. Chuckling a little bit at that thought, I dip out a little bit of that potato salad and grab a big piece of Rice Krispie treat. Not a well balanced lunch, but I don't care.

Surprisingly, Carrick is by himself in the living room, his plate balanced on his lap as he eats his sandwich. He smiles up at me as I walk in, and I feel my face heating up a little bit. I'm glad no one is around to see that reaction or the way I sit a little bit too close to him. 

“You hanging in there?” He asks, nudging my leg with his in a subtle acknowledgment of just how close we are on the couch.

“Barely,” I reply. No point in being dishonest with him. Even if I was, he would know it immediately.

“You'll be okay,” he says. “I know, everyone keeps telling you that, but it's true. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Zac. So it might sound cliché and the kind of crap everyone tells you because it's what they're supposed to say, but I believe it. Maybe not soon, but you _will_ be.”

“Yeah,” I reply, finding myself completely at a loss for other, more intelligent words. 

It's good enough for Carrick, I guess, because he's soon back to eating his sandwich. I'm doing my best to choke down the potato salad. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn't have had any trouble at all eating my mom's wonderful food, and eventually I do make my way through the portion I've dipped out for myself. 

I've just taken a bite out of the Rice Krispie treat when Penny comes skipping into the room, her arms piled down with Barbie dolls. I don't even bat an eye at her; there were far more Barbie dolls in our house when I grew than there were people. It's just a side effect of having three little sisters. I'm pretty sure I hear Carrick stifling a giggle, though, as Penny struggles not to drop all the dolls and tiny little outfits tucked into her arms.

To my surprise, she hops up onto the couch next to him and flashes him her best smile. Knowing he's already lost this one, Carrick sets his plate down on the coffee table. 

“Hey, Uncle Carrick? You wanna play Barbies?”

He flashes me a look of slight terror. He grew up with only brothers, and I know he has one niece, but he rarely sees her due to her living on the opposite coast. But he knows he can't say no to Penny, no matter what she asks of him. She's just like that. When she's old enough to date, Taylor will probably need to invest in an arsenal.

“Sure,” Carrick finally replies, letting out a breath. 

Penny hops off the couch and into the floor, immediately launching into an explanation of each Barbie doll's name and personality. Carrick flashes me one more look before joining her. I'm not going to rescue him, though. This is too priceless. No, I'll just sit back and enjoy my Rice Krispie treat while Carrick tries to brush the tangles out of Skipper's hair.

I can't explain it, but something about watching him play with my niece, seeing how easily he just seems to fit into my family, despite all the reasons why he _shouldn't_... it's the first time I've felt okay all day. Maybe everything will be okay after all. Maybe not soon, like Carrick said, but there's a tiny glimmer of hope beginning to form in my mind.


	21. Pity Party

Thanks to Penny and her Barbies, Carrick and I were stuck at Mom and Dad's house for several more hours. Eventually I was forced into the game as well, which didn't surprise me at all. She apparently had weddings on the brain–-I suppose her mom was to thank for that–-so we dressed all her dolls in their best clothes and acted out a little Barbie wedding. For whatever reason, she decided that Carrick was the groom and I was the bride.

I don't think he'll let me forget that one for a while.

He doesn't say anything on the drive home, though. He just sits there with a little grin on his face, window rolled down so that the smoke from his cigarette doesn't linger in my truck. I don't really care, though, and he knows it, but apparently he just has manners or something. It's this constant dance with the two of us-–trying to figure out what the boundaries are, drawing lines and then crossing them.

Cigarette smoke is a smell I'm not really bothered by, anyway. I guess I've got Taylor to thank for that. He and Isaac both took up smoking around the same time, when we got home from touring for our second album, but only Taylor became truly addicted. He'd sneak out behind the studio to smoke, thinking no one would notice, but I always traced the smell to him. I would sit there with him for hours sometimes, neither of us saying a word, while he went through half a pack or more. At first, the smoke made me cough and gag, though I tried to hide it, but eventually it just became another part of Taylor.

It isn't such an innate part of Carrick, though. He's always going to quit, recently quit, or in the process of it. The smell doesn't cling to him the way it does Taylor; Carrick's scent, which I got to know very well thanks to sharing a bus with him, is earthier-–the weed, and something else, something that's just... Carrick. 

Looking back, it's strange that I was even that familiar with his scent before it was all over my sheets and clinging to my clothes. Until a few days ago, I never would have considered our friendship too close, but I guess it was, by most people's standards. Maybe, on some subconscious level, that's the real reason why Kate despises him so much. I wonder if anyone else could see it before I did.

“You alright?” Carrick asks.

“Hmm?” I reply, glancing over at him. His cigarette is gone now, so I must have spaced out for a while. It's a good thing that, as everyone likes to remind me, I drive like an old man. Otherwise, we might have been in trouble. But here we are, somehow turning down the street to my house, even though I barely remember going through the motions to bring us here.

Carrick chuckles. “Just lost you for a second there... you looked even spacier than usual.”

I steer my truck into the driveway with one hand. The other hand is in the air, one finger raised to flip Carrick off. I know he's just joking, though, and I am, too. Despite that delicate dance, our tip-toeing of all those lines, we still mostly just act like friends. Until we're cuddling on the couch or tucked into bed together, nothing seems different at all. Maybe nothing is.

Then again, maybe things are completely different. Carrick's arm snakes its way around my waist as we walk up the driveway together, and it manages to feel really weird and absolutely perfect at the same time. I want to lean my head against his shoulder, but I think that would be pushing it a bit, and I need to focus on unlocking the door, anyway. 

We've barely managed to kick off our shoes when the phone starts ringing. Are we just not allowed to have a moment's peace at all? The thought that it might be Taylor calling again makes me rush to the nearest phone, but it also makes me feel a little sick. Why would he be calling again so soon, anyway?

Nervously, as thought it might bite me, I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey,” a voice says on the other end and it takes me a second to identify it as Johnny. He's been practically a member of the family forever, and now that Jessica's married to his little brother, I guess he really is.

“What's up?” I ask, then mouth _Johnny_ to Carrick, who's standing a few feet away, looking just as puzzled as I feel.

“Nothing much. Just wanted to make sure you were coming over to our barbecue tonight.”

Oh. Right. He and Angie have a barbecue almost every weekend during the summer. I can't believe I've forgotten about this one, but it appears that I have. I clear my throat and reply, “Oh, yeah. Of course. What time was it, again?”

“Everyone's coming over around six,” he replies. “Can you give Carrick and Austin a call and tell them they're invited, too? Joe managed to lose their numbers so I couldn't call them myself...”

“Yeah,” I reply, glancing at Carrick. “I'll let them know.”

“Great. See ya later, man.”

“Later.”

I put the phone back on its charger, then give Carrick a sheepish smile. “How do you feel about going to a barbecue with my friends and extended family? Johnny said to give you a call and invite you, so...”

Carrick chuckles, then gives me a more serious look. “How do _you_ feel about it?”

“Alright, I guess,” I reply, shrugging. “Could be worse. I can't stay locked up here like a hermit forever, can I?”

“No, I guess not,” he says, giving me a smile. “Sure, let's go.”

I don't bother telling him that I would much rather stay locked up like a hermit, as long as he's there with me. But, with him, I guess I can manage to go out and be social, too.

****

Despite my hesitation to go to the barbecue, it actually isn't so bad. We picked Austin up along the way, which meant Carrick squeezed in close to me in the cab of the truck. He didn't do anything but just sit there, his leg pressed up against mine, but it was enough to have me on edge in the best and worst possible way, for the whole drive. Austin didn't notice, though. He was too busy smoking his cigarette and asking what kind of alcohol they were going to have at the party.

I have a feeling he was expecting something more exciting when I said “party” than what he actually got, but he seems to be enjoying himself well enough. In fact, the party isn't nearly as bad as I feared. Someone even remembered that Carrick doesn't eat meat, so there were a few soy burgers for him and some fancy vegetable kebab things Angie was really proud of. Carrick even managed to get me to eat one of them – the kebabs, not the soy burgers.

Now he's socializing with my friends and family while I've found a way to still be a hermit even with a dozen or so people around. It's a real talent of mine. I found a little hiding place around the side of their house, not quite out of the backyard, but not in the alleyway either. Someone decided to put a bench back there, for whatever reason, and I'm making myself comfortable on it, sipping my beer in peace.

“Hey.”

At least, I _was_ sipping my beer in peace.

“Hey,” I reply, not needing to look up to know it's Carrick standing there.

He sits down next to me without even asking permission. I guess we're past the point of that, anyway, and he knows I'd never tell him no. “You feeling alright?”

“Haven't you asked me that already today?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “But it bears repeating. You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

I try to smirk, but I have a feeling I probably just end up looking nauseous. “You guys probably should have just come without me. I know I'm horrible company.”

“I thought we came here for a barbecue, not a pity party,” Carrick says.

I look up at him, fully prepared to scowl, but the way he's grinning at me, obviously proud of his joke, stops me in my tracks. I _am_ being pathetic, and I know it. All I need is for him to call me out on it. It won't fix everything right away, but already I'm giving him a genuine smile in return. 

“That's better,” Carrick says, giving me a smile of his own and reaching his hand out to touch my face. 

I can't help drawing back a little at his touch. I know it isn't that different from anything we might have done before everything changed, but it feels different. If it feels different to me, then surely everyone else can see it, too. It makes me feel vulnerable. I don't know how to explain this, this thing between me and Carrick, to everyone. Carrick seems to understand my hesitance. He pulls his hand back, but his smile never falters. 

“I'm going to go get another drink,” Carrick says. “Do you want anything?”

I shake my head and hold up the still half-full plastic cup I've been sipping from for the past hour. I've been so much of a mess lately that I really don't trust myself to get drunk. Best case scenario, I would just end up punching someone. Worst case scenario, I would punch someone and then shove my tongue down Carrick's throat. It's really best for everyone if I stay relatively sober.

“Alright,” Carrick replies, giving me a pat on the leg. “You just chill out here, then. I'll be back.”

I watch Carrick walk away, then lean my head back on the bench and sigh. The party really hasn't been that bad, but I can still feel the way that everyone seems to be walking on eggshells around me. They may not know everything that's going on in my life, but they know Kate is gone. While I do feel like an absolute trainwreck, I can't stand their pity. I'm _not_ trying to throw the pity party that Carrick accused me of. I'm just trying to hold myself together and mostly failing.

My pocket starts to vibrate, and it takes me a minute to realize it's my cell phone. No one has called it in days, but apparently everyone in the world needs to talk to me today. I shift around a little and dig the phone out, then nearly drop it onto the ground when I see the name on the screen. _Taylor_.

Again?

It's a text message this time. He never texts me; he never texts anyone, really. When he does, the messages are usually so long that he could have just gotten his point across faster by calling. I unlock my phone to see what he has to say this time.

_Coming home tomorrow morning. Thanks for checking in with mom and dad. See you soon : o )_

I can't help cracking a smile at the silly little face he punctuated the message with. Taylor is the only person I know who gives his smilies a nose. I know it's just a little quirk of his, but it causes this stupid fluttering in my chest to read those words and imagine _him_ smiling at me. After days of barely talking, he wants to see me? It probably doesn't mean anything at all, but it still has a profound effect on me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carrick walking back over to me. I quickly type a reply to Taylor, just to let him know I got his message, then tuck the phone back in my pocket. I'm not trying to hide that little exchange from Carrick, but then again, maybe I am. 

I should be happy with Carrick. I _am_ happy with Carrick. Yet one stupid, uncharacteristically short text from Taylor, and I'm sucked back in again.


	22. U + Me

The next day, Carrick slips out so easily that he might as well not even have been at my house at all. We don't talk about it beforehand, but it doesn't surprise me when he begins throwing his clothes and things into his bag after breakfast. I knew this couldn't last; he couldn't just move into my house for good, as much as I want him to.

He doesn't say goodbye on his way out. That's not his style, and we both know it isn't goodbye, anyway. It couldn't be. I don't think either of us would or could ever choose to let the other go. At least, I'm beginning to see that that's how I feel; whether we're friends, lovers or whatever, I need him in my life. And I think Carrick feels the same.

I get nearly a whole day to myself to throw the pity party I keep claiming that I'm not throwing. I spend most of the day playing video games, reading – doing anything at all that I can do not to think about Carrick, Taylor, Kate or any of the other million ways I've fucked my life up. 

Taylor sends me a text late at night, when I'm nearly asleep on the couch. I didn't even realize I was still there, but the sound of my phone's text tone somehow rises above the television show that lulled me to sleep. I lunge for the coffee table, somehow knowing instinctively that the text is from Taylor before I've even see it.

_Home now. Office tomorrow around 11? Just u + me_

I'm not sure if that's even a question I'm really meant to reply to or an order. Taylor knows well enough that I'd follow any order he gave me and have never, ever been able to resist doing anything he asked of me. So what's the point in even asking? He's got me wrapped around his gorgeous little finger and he knows it. Still, I type a quick reply to him before peeling myself off the couch and making my way to my actual bed.

_I'll be there :)_

The smilie face was probably too much, but I can't find it in myself to care. I would have put a billion little hearts in the text message if it wouldn't have made me look like a total idiot. 

Even though I know there's still some weirdness between Taylor and me–-for whatever reason-–I can't help looking forward to seeing him. Maybe whatever it was that made our phone call so awkward can be fixed. Maybe he wants to fix it. I can only assume that's why he wants to see me and no one else tomorrow.

****

I don't even remember sleeping at all once I make it to my bedroom. I remember falling onto the bed, my cell phone still in hand and a stupid smile plastered on my face at the thought of seeing Taylor, but I don't remember sleeping. The next thing I remember is waking up, all alone for the first time in days, but not minding.

Then immediately hating myself.

How can I erase Carrick from my mind and heart so quickly? Are a few texts from Taylor and the prospect of seeing him really all it takes? It certainly seems that way. The good mood I woke up in is all but gone by the time I make it downstairs and find that I'm out of orange juice. I suppose I could start the day off with a soda or an energy drink, but as soon as I consider it, I can practically hear Kate's judgmental voice in my head.

It seems I just can't win today. But I do still get to see Taylor, if I haven't drowned under all my guilt before I can even make it out of my house. So far, it's not looking good for me.

In the end, I decide to skip breakfast entirely. If I know Taylor, and I do, he'll bring a couple different drinks and maybe even a few pastries from Starbucks with him to the office. He's too indecisive to pick just one meal unless he has to, so he'll surely have something he can share with me. Reminding myself over and over again that I get to see Taylor, I manage to drag myself through the shower, dress myself in clothes that are actually clean and head out the door in time to almost not be late.

It's always a toss up as too who will be the most late whenever a group of Hansons get together. Taylor likes to blame Natalie and his army of kids for slowing him down, but I know I'm dragging my feet today, so it's still anyone's guess as to which of us will make it to the office first. As I ease my truck into a parking spot outside, though, I see his in the alley. For once, Taylor's beaten me.

The office is quiet. Too quiet. I _know_ Taylor's here, though, but I guess he really must be the only one, because I don't hear a single sound coming from any of the rooms I pass. Finally, as I approach the studio itself, I hear the tell-tale sound of a piano. It probably sounds ridiculous, but I would recognize Taylor's piano playing anywhere, even when he's just messing around like he is right now.

I'm content just to lean against the wall and watch him. If I could just watch him all day and never have to even say a word, I'd still consider it a great day. At least if I don't talk, the chances of sticking my foot in my mouth are greatly lessened. Of course Taylor eventually notices my presence and turns around to face me.

“Hey,” he says, grinning. “How long have you been standing there?”

I shrug. “A while. You seemed busy.”

“Just waiting on you,” he says, patting the empty space on the piano bench next to him.

I don't have to ask what that means. There are a million questions on the tip of my tongue, but if Taylor says to come sit next to him, I'll obey. He taps on a few keys after I sit down, not playing anything in particular at all. 

“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Did you, umm, want to work on something?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to see you.”

His sun-bleached bangs hang down just enough to hide his eyes from me, so I'm left wondering what his intentions really are. It doesn't matter that his words were simple enough; I can't help thinking there's something he isn't telling me.

“You just got back,” I point out. “Shouldn't you be at home with your kids?”

Taylor just shrugs. “They'll be there later. Can't I see you now?”

“Of course,” I reply, my voice catching stupidly on the words like I'm about to cry or something. I'm not. I don't cry over things like my brother wanting to hang out with me. That would just be silly.

“Good,” Taylor replies, glancing up at me for the briefest moment, then back down at the piano. He lets his fingers drift across the keys for a moment before speaking again. “You know, they had all these parks there, with these primitive camping areas. You could stay there and really rough it, you know, except you'd be like a mile away from some resort. It looked like fun, though. Natalie didn't agree.”

“Well, I wouldn't want to go camping if I was pregnant. I mean.” There goes that foot in mouth thing again. It never fails, really. Every time I talk, the probability of it just increases.

Taylor lets out a sound that's halfway between a cough and a laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn't thinking about taking _her_ back there. I thought you would like it.”

Well, that has me stunned into silence. Given that whole foot in mouth thing, I'm not going to complain.

“Reminds me of how we used to camp out in the backyard, you know?” Taylor asks, like he thinks there's any chance I might have forgotten. “Before the new house, before things got crazy. We weren't a couple hundred yards from the house, or even the street, but it was like... our own little world, wasn't it?”

I nod, not trusting myself to say any words that are even half as beautiful or intelligent as what Taylor just said. 

“I miss that.” The words are so soft I almost don't hear him at all, but at the same time, I know exactly what he's said. His tone says it all. 

And I agree. I agree more than he'll ever know. I miss when it was just me and him; of course, it never really was. But there was a time when the two of us could just go away and do things like that – pinch a tent in the backyard or sit in silence behind the studio, inhaling nicotine. Now we have families and responsibilities and all these things that just keep putting space between us.

There's no space between us right now, though. I don't know if I sat down _that_ close to Taylor or if he's managed to scoot closer to me while I wasn't paying attention, but our bodies are touching almost all the way down. I can even feel his foot tapping against mine as he taps at the keys, still playing nothing in particular. 

“I've missed you,” I admit, my cheeks heating up as the words leave my mouth. Did I say too much?

I don't know how I expected Taylor to respond to that, but what I definitely didn't expect was a frown. It's not just a slight frown, either. It takes over his whole face, his whole _demeanor_. His shoulders slump and his forehead creases with lines. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, his hands falling away from the keys. He stares down at them like they've suddenly become useless to him, like _he_ suddenly feels useless. 

I don't want him to feel that way, but I don't know how to tell him that. I suppose I could just say it, but then I would have to explain myself and it would just take too long to get my point across. It's much easier just to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. It's funny; I'm often the one who needs comforting, and I'm the one who just admitted to missing Taylor, yet I'm holding him. I don't mind, though. As we've already established, I'll do anything for Taylor.

Even though he's taller than me, he's slumped down and drawn into himself so much that he's resting his head on my shoulder. I'm perfectly content to just sit here, holding him, for as long as he wants. He nuzzles my neck a little, and I barely even notice, because Taylor is just affectionate like that. He would do strange little things like that to me long before that kiss at Carrick's house.

He usually doesn't _kiss_ my neck, though.

His lips are warm – scorching hot, even. I can almost imagine the impression of his lips burned into my neck, a permanent tattoo of this moment. It isn't enough, though. I want his lips, his touch, tattooed onto every inch of me. I turn my head slightly, just enough to put my lips in Taylor's path instead. He doesn't even hesitate before locking his lips onto mine.

I know I was drunk the last time this happened, but it feels every bit as amazing as I remember. Now that I'm sober, I want this to go on forever, so that I can memorize every aspect of him, every little touch and movement. I want his soft whimper playing on a loop forever in my mind. I just want _him_.

Taylor tangles his hands in my hair and tries to nudge me backward, but it just ends with us in a heap on the floor. I'm not complaining though; I'll never complain about having Taylor on top of me. Our move to the floor doesn't seem to have bothered him either; he's focused, it seems, on me and only me. His hands are tugging so desperately at my hair that it kind of hurts, but I'll never complain. All I can do is clutch at his shirt, trying to get him closer to me, even though at this point that's practically impossible.

His lips make their way back down my neck, all the way to the collar of my shirt. He nips at my flesh and some really perverse part of my brain hopes that he's leaving marks. I don't even care that I'll have to start wearing button up shirts in the middle of June to cover Taylor's bites. I just need that little bit of evidence, that constant reminder of him, on my body.

I don't know how far he's willing to take this. Carrick and I haven't taken things all the way, but with Taylor, I don't think I have a limit at all. Whatever he wants to do, I'll do. He's tugging on my shirt now from practically all directions, and I think he might actually rip it apart before he gets enough control of himself to take it off the normal way. Not that I'm helpful at all, of course. I'm too busy desperately grinding against his thigh and clutching at his belt for dear life to help him get my clothes off.

I finally manage to tear myself away from, well, him, long enough to put my hands over his and help him pull my shirt over my head. He pulls back and stares down at my chest like we haven't shared bedrooms and hotel rooms and changed clothes in front of each other a million times before. Again, I'm not going to complain. The idea that Taylor, the guy I've lusted after for roughly as long as I've had any concept of what _lust_ was is staring at me like he feels like the same way... well, it's a pretty nice idea.

He trails kisses down my chest, staring into my eyes the entire time. If he stares up at me once he gets where he's going, I don't think he'll need to stay down there very long. Taylor just has this way of staring at a person that makes them feel like no one else in the world exists. Staring at me like that while his tongue is darting out to lick my nipples is really almost enough to push me over the edge all on its own. 

When he starts moving lower, I have to close my eyes. I have to break that eye contact before I scream – although I'm not even sure I'm capable of screaming right now. I haven't made a single sound since all this began. Except for both of our heavy breaths, the room is entirely silent.

That is, until a tinny, recorded version of one of our songs starts playing. 

With a mumbled curse, he rolls off of me and fumbles in his pocket for his phone. He doesn't even look back at me before jumping up and practically sprinting from the room to answer it. 

I didn't need to ask him who it was. I'm well aware that Natalie thinks it's just the cutest thing ever to make Taylor's phone play “Georgia” any time she calls. With a few mumbled curses of my own, I roll over and reach for my shirt. There's no point in staying half naked. I know the moment has passed. Whatever happened between Taylor and me today, Natalie has ruined it.

If there's one thing that woman is good at, it's ruining things. Maybe I'm too hard on her, but I doubt it. God only knows what stupid shit she's calling him about now. Probably just to whine because he isn't at home to tend to her every pregnant need.

I don't even bother getting up out of the floor. I do, at least, manage to pull myself up to a sitting position and slip my shirt back over my head. I'm just starting to tuck it into my pants when Taylor bursts back into the room.

“That wasn't Natalie,” he says. “That was her mom. She's taking Nat to the hospital.”


	23. Waiting

Taylor doesn't ask me to come to the hospital with him. He doesn't have to. Just one look at him, shaking like a leaf and holding the cell phone out in front of him like he's not even sure it's real, and I know he won't make it on his own. I dig my keys out of my pocket and wrap my arm tightly around him, steering him toward the front door rather than out the side where he's parked. He doesn't question me at all, just lets himself be drug along.

I'm doing this for Taylor, though. Not for Natalie. I hate myself for still being so angry at her for even existing, but I don't think that feeling will ever leave me, no matter what. Something is seriously wrong right now; even I know that. She's only about a month along, give or take a few weeks. Whatever she's going to the hospital for right now can't possibly be good, so just for the moment, I can try to shove down my real feelings and just be there for Taylor and, consequently, her.

I don't suppose I've ever truly done anything nice for her – at least nothing that really mattered – except the time I agreed to date her broken hearted best friend. That one worked out really well for me. I can't help thinking about Kate right now, though. She doesn't like to talk about it, but we've been through this too – twice. I still don't have any words for Taylor that might be any comfort at all. There's nothing that helps when you're faced with the thought of your child ceasing to exist before it ever really lived.

So I don't try to comfort him at all, and he doesn't say a word either. The only words passed between the two of us are the name and location of the hospital. Soon enough, we're pulling into the parking lot. Taylor's out of my truck before I've even got the key out of the ignition. I want to tell him that it doesn't matter how quickly he moves, it won't change a thing, but I don't. It might be true, but it just sounds so callous.

I trail behind Taylor as he practically sprints into the emergency room, catching up with him only when he skids to a stop at the front desk. I place my hand on his back and he nearly jumps a foot in the air. That doesn't deter me, though. I keep my hand there, rubbing gentle circles, while he gets the information he needs from the woman behind the desk.

Once he knows where to go, he turns back to me as though he's suddenly remembered I exist. With a slight frown, he asks, “Do you mind waiting here?”

“No, I'll be fine,” I reply, shaking my head.

Taylor opens his mouth to speak again, then closes it. With a tiny nod, he walks away, toward a row of curtained off rooms. I turn around and survey the room until I finally find a corner with a row of empty chairs. I don't feel like being near any more people than absolutely necessary.

If I were honest with Taylor, I would have told him that I much prefer waiting out here. I would be useless back there with him, crowding up the room during what is a very private moment for him and his wife. If I were _completely_ honest, though, I would have told him that I don't want to be in the hospital at all right now. 

It's not that I hate hospitals. I always thought that was such a weird thing to say. Are there people who actually like hospitals? Anyone who genuinely enjoys those little paper thin gowns and being surrounded by hoards of sick people have far more problems than I do. It's just that I've been here before in exactly Taylor's position. I've held Kate's hand while she waited for tests that would hopefully reveal why it kept happening to us.

None of the tests ever did. Nothing was wrong, they said, and I suppose our two kids proved that. I think we've both always known that something _was_ wrong, though-–something that couldn't be shown on some doctor's test. 

This is why I hate hospitals. Because there's nothing to do but sit in the waiting room and think, think, think until my head feels like it might explode. Whatever happens today, I have a feeling it's going to change everything. I don't know yet what that means, but I can feel the shifting as tangibly as if the earth were actually rearranging itself underneath my feet.

At some point, I can't take it anymore. I have to get out of there. I pass a vending machine my way out and I buy myself a bag of chips and a Mountain Dew, since I still haven't eaten a single thing all day. It's not a balanced lunch, but it will have to do. With my lunch in hand, I climb back into my truck to eat and read the mindless video game book I'm pretty sure is in the truck's floorboard. It won't totally distract my mind, but it's enough for now.

I only make it a chapter or two into the book before I start to drift off. It happens so suddenly that I can't fight it off or even fully realize it's happening. I only realize I've fallen asleep when a knock on the window I'm resting my head against wakes me up.

Just inches away from me, Taylor's face is deathly pale, a drastic change from the tan he was sporting earlier as a souvenir from his vacation. With one hand, I rub my tired eyes and with the other I roll my window down. 

“Can we get out of here?” Taylor asks.

I just nod. I should tell him to go back in there and be with his wife, but I'm feeling selfish. I'll have plenty of time to beat myself up for this later. So, without a word, I unlock the passenger side and motion for Taylor to get in. He slides into the passenger seat like he wants to disappear into it and I know I should say something, anything at all. I just don't know what. 

“She lost the baby,” he says. 

I nod, because I'm not really surprised. I won't tell Taylor, but I think it was pretty much a given that if she hadn't, she would before leaving the hospital today. I just had a bad feeling about it, but Taylor doesn't need to hear that. I'm not sure what he _does_ need to hear, though.

“Shouldn't you...” I say, letting myself trail off because I don't dare tell Taylor what to do.

He shakes his head. “No. Let's get out of here. _Please_.”

Even though a small part of me still wants to argue with him, I don't. I just slip my key into the ignition and steer my truck out of the hospital parking lot. Taylor didn't say where he wanted to go, but I can't stop thinking about our conversation earlier about camping out behind our old house. Without asking him what he wants, I start driving in the direction of our old neighborhood, turning the radio up just to fill in the awful silence.

The driveway is blocked off with some rope, and Taylor sits patiently in the truck while I pull the little makeshift gate back so I can ease my truck further off the road and into the shade of a few old trees by the side of the house. I shut the truck off and we both sit there, still silent. I'm not sure why I thought it was a good idea to come here or what exactly I planned on us doing once we arrived. Now that we're here, I just feel awkward and useless all over again.

Taylor steps out of the truck without a word, and I let him go. I'll give him a head start just so I'm not following him like he's a child or something. Maybe he just wants to be alone. It's hard to give him what he wants when he doesn't really tell me what that is.

After giving Taylor a little time to himself, I decide maybe it won't hurt to join him. I step out of my truck and glance around the yard. It's not remote at all, but it is fairly large and wooded. There's plenty of room for Taylor to disappear, but after just a few steps I can smell the spicy smoke of his cigarettes. When he gets desperate, he'll smoke any brand, but he always did prefer the cloves. Sometimes he could even talk me into smoking one, too, since they're a little more like the herb I prefer, but I haven't been able to get away with that for years.

I finally find him sitting beneath a big oak tree, slumped against it like he just sort of collapsed there rather than actually chose that spot to sit. He spots me out of the corner of his eye and pats the ground next to him. I may be pretty useless otherwise, but I'm definitely capable of sitting and inhaling his second hand smoke.

“How do you deal with it?” He asks, the words leaving his mouth along with a cloud of smoke.

I don't have to ask what he's referring to when he says _it_. Now I understand why he wanted to leave with him. I'm the only person who might understand what he's feeling right now. That doesn't mean I have any words of wisdom for him, though.

“It takes time,” I say. “It does get easier. You try to appreciate what you've got, you know?”

It's bullshit and Taylor knows it is, but thankfully he doesn't call me out on it. Maybe it will get easier for him and Natalie. I don't know; I've never understood their relationship. For me and Kate, the pain was alleviated some with each new birth, but there was always this lingering feeling that something was wrong with _us_. If the doctors couldn't explain why it happened, then maybe it was just a sign that we weren't meant to have children together. I know she thought that, too, and maybe even believed it more than I did.

It would be easy to blame those miscarriages for this chasm in our marriage, but I know they aren't the only thing driving us apart. I think the biggest reason it was doomed from the start is sitting right next to me, leaning his head against my shoulder and blowing out little puffs of smoke far too close to my face. That's still wrong, though. It isn't his fault that I fell in love with him. 

I guess it is just my fault after all.

“You think we'll be okay?” He asks.

I'm not sure which _we_ he's asking about, but I think either way the answer is an emphatic no. He and Natalie probably haven't been okay in years, and he and I never should be a _we_ in the first place.

“Yeah,” I reply, lying through my teeth yet again. “I think so.”


	24. Phone Calls

The afternoon passes us by in a blur of cigarette smoke and silly little recollections of our life in the old house. When those recollections drift toward the times we hid from fans and dodged camera lenses while just trying to play in our own yard, we fall into silence yet again. I think Taylor even manages to fall asleep for a few minutes, his head nestled against my shoulder. 

Only the chiming of his cell phone's text alert pulls us from our reverie. He wiggles around a bit to free the phone from his pocket and I have to move away from him before the wiggling gets to be more than I can handle. I don't ask him what the text says, and all he offers is that he should probably get home soon. I can't really argue with that.

The drive back to our office passes by all too quickly. I turn the radio on this time, so softly it might as well not be on at all, and Taylor hums along with a few songs. That's a good sign, I suppose. I don't know what I've done, but maybe I've managed to improve his mood a little just by being there. This isn't the kind of thing you get over in a few hours or even a few days, though; I should know. If Taylor can find anything at all to be happy about right now, though, that's a step in the right direction.

I park my truck in front of the alley where his SUV still sits. Taylor glares at it through the windshield, as though it were responsible for today's events. I suppose he's just dreading anything that will bring him closer to Natalie and force him to face it all again. If I could keep him from it, I would, but I know that stealing him away from his family won't fix anything.

For once, I guess I can't give Taylor what he wants.

He finally pulls his eyes away from truck and looks back at me. His mouth twitches like he's trying to figure out what to say or if he should say anything at all. I don't know what to say either, so I just slide my hand across the cab of the truck and rest it on Taylor's thigh. It's not much, but it's all I've got right now.

Taylor places his hand over mine and gives me the tiniest smile ever. “Thanks.”

I'm not really sure what he's thanking me for. Just being there for him, I suppose, although I still feel like I didn't really _do_ anything. I was just there, offering stupid advice that we both knew wasn't all that true. Still, if he wants to thank me for it, I'm not going to argue with him. Instead, I just try to return his smile the best I can and say, “You're welcome.”

He surprises me then. He leans across the cab of the truck, closing the small distance between us, and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is gentle and over quickly-–so quickly that I barely notice the stale cigarette taste. When he pulls back, I can't read the look on his face or that all to familiar vacancy in his eyes.

He mumbles something that might be “see you later” and slips out of the truck. I'm actually getting pretty accustomed to him just running away like that. The time that he sticks around after one of these strange little encounters will be the time that really surprises and confuses me. 

I watch him walk away for as long as I can bear to before putting my truck in reverse and easing it back into the street. I crank the radio up; if Taylor's there I can handle the silence, however awkward, but on my own I need something other than my thoughts to fill it up.

The drive passes by quickly enough, and soon I'm walking back into my empty house. Even when Kate was here, the house was never a noisy place. Our kids are the quiet type – far quieter than any children of mine ought to be, but they seem happy enough-–and except for what little conversation is necessary and the television, the house just stays quiet. Still, it seems so much quieter now with no one at all there, even though I know it isn't objectively that much worse.

The only sound now is the beeping of the telephone, alerting me to a message. I swear no one at all called this house until I had it all to myself, but now I seem to be wanted by all kinds of people. I shuffle into the kitchen and pick up the phone, hoping that the combination of buttons I press is the correct one to play the messages. It is. After pressing a few more buttons, I'm greeted by Kate's voice.

“Hey, Zac. I just wanted to let you know that I'm coming back. I'm driving through the night, so we'll be here in the morning, I guess. Natalie called and told me what happened and I just... well, I just think I need to come back. I'll see you tomorrow.”

I find myself just staring at the phone even after the message ends. I know that replaying it won't reveal anything that I didn't hear the first time, so after a moment, I convince myself to just hang the phone up. 

There was something so hollow about her voice. I know this can't be easy on her. First the trouble between us and now Natalie. But Kate doesn't fall apart. Kate buries her pain away under layers of silence and religion. So it's not surprising that I didn't hear any hint of emotion in her voice. 

I wish I could find comfort as easily as she does. I tried. I attended the services with her and even went along with the daily prayers, the fasts and whatever else she devised that was supposed to help us get closer to God. I had never felt further away from everything familiar – further away from the woman I thought I knew, further away from the person I thought I was. Eventually, she gave up on me and let me stay home in peace on Sunday while she still prayed for both our everlasting souls.

The only comfort I ever really found was in that one little substance that seems to put yet another wedge between the two of us – the pot. It makes me sound like such an addict to put it that way, and maybe I am. It _has_ been a comfort to me, though. When I can't take all the people around me, especially during the long nights on the road, all I need is a bowl to slow my mind down and stop all the anxious thoughts from swirling around it. 

Until Carrick moved here, I honestly did try to avoid bringing it into this house. Kate didn't like it and didn't understand it, and I wanted to please her. I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed now. Thanks to Carrick, I've got a little stashed in my bedroom drawer, and I know one of my pipes is still packed away in a suitcase from our last tour. Right now, I think a nice bowl is exactly what I need to deal with today.

I carry the pipe and the little plastic baggie out the back yard, because despite everything else I've done wrong, I'm at least considerate enough not to make the house smell like weed. I know it's not enough to make Kate happy, but it will at least be one less reason for her to be mad at me. 

The first hit is always the hardest and the best. It burns so much that every time, for just a second, I wonder why I do this to myself. And then it hits me – that wonderful numbness, that feeling of floating and sinking at the same time and just not _caring_.

The bowl is gone quicker than I would like, but at least it leave me feeling a little better. I don't have to think about anything now. I can just lay here and stay up at the sky. It must be getting pretty late in the day, because the sun isn't blinding me at all. How have I managed to let the entire day slip away? I know the answer to that-–I spent the day with Taylor-–but it still seems like it has gone by in a matter of minutes rather than hours.

I wonder Carrick has done all day.

So much for not thinking about anything. Once the thought of him appears in my mind, it plants itself there and he's all I can see and think about. I've deserted him as easily as Taylor seems to desert me. I wonder if that's how Carrick sees it. He can claim to be an open book, and he certainly isn't as enigmatic as Taylor, but I rarely know what he's thinking. I want to know, though.

I wiggle my phone out of my pocket and scroll through the recent calls until I find Carrick's name. I hope he isn't busy, but I can't imagine that he is. Maybe he even wants to hear from me. I won't know until he answers. 

“Hello?”

“Hey...” I croak out, suddenly forgetting all my reasons for calling and hating that I probably sound really stoned.

“Something wrong?” 

“No,” I reply, then sigh. “Yeah, I guess. Natalie, umm... well, she lost the baby.”

Carrick is uncharacteristically quiet, no doubt trying to figure out how that's really something wrong with me. I'm not really prepared to explain all the ways that Natalie's miscarriage affects me, so hopefully he can figure that out on his own. I don't really want to tell him about what happened with Taylor this morning, either. I'm starting to wonder why I even called him when there's really nothing I want to talk about.

“And Kate's coming back,” I add, just to fill in the silence.

“Oh,” Carrick replies. “She... is?”

“Her idea, not mine. I guess because of Natalie...”

Carrick exhales loudly enough that the phone picks it up. “So, do you think... I mean, you two aren't going to try to work things out, are you?”

He seems almost hopeful, almost like he's _asking_ me not to work things out with her. I know he wouldn't come right out and ask for that, though. I honestly don't know if I would do anything Carrick asked of me, the way I would Taylor, but it doesn't matter. Carrick won't ask me to do _anything_ –-at least, nothing so selfish as that.

“I don't know,” I reply. “Honestly... I don't think want to. But I guess I'll see what she says.”

“And if she wants to work things out then you will?” He sounds like he's getting a little irritated with me, and I can't say that I blame him.

“I don't know,” I say again. I'm suddenly really, really regretting this phone call.

Carrick sighs again. “I'm sorry. I'm just trying to figure out where your head's at right now, that's all.”

“And I really don't know. Sorry I sound like a broken record.”

He laughs softly at that, at least. “It's okay. I'll stop prying.”

“I miss you,” I say. I wasn't planning to say it at all. The words just tumble out of my mouth completely unplanned. It's like I've been drinking instead of smoking.

“I'm right here, you know,” he replies. “Just a few minutes away. I know I left, but... well, I just figured it was easier if you didn't have to explain why I had apparently moved in. But I'm still here. You can see me any time you want.”

“Yeah, I guess I can,” I reply, even though we both know it isn't that simple and will be even less simple once Kate is back. For now, it's nice enough to imagine that things can carry on with Carrick like nothing has changed.


	25. Nachos

I spend the hours before Kate's arrival obsessively cleaning the house. I know she'll just accuse me of making my mom clean it, because I've never been good at housework, but I can take pride in telling her I did it myself, even if she doesn't believe it.

It has to be done, though. I don't know why, but this feels like a big... thing... that I need to be prepared for. Kate's return, I mean. It's some kind of really big turning point, although I'm not sure what we're turning toward or away from. I don't know where anything in my life is going, but I can't help thinking that whatever it is, it's going to happen soon. Like... as soon as Kate gets here.

She texts me every time that she stops along the way for food and bathroom breaks. I'm not sure why she's so intent on communicating with me when she hasn't called or even texted a single time during her entire stay in Georgia. Does this mean she wants to try to make things work again? I really don't know. 

It's sad that I kind of hope she doesn't. I've gotten used to the idea of being alone. It's not that I really _want_ to be alone, and it's not even that I want to be rid of Kate. Even though I know our relationship isn't all that great, it's what I know. It's what I'm accustomed to. I'm not sure that I really know how to be anyone other than her husband, but I was starting to learn.

The drive from her parent's home in Georgia back to Tulsa is a long one and I think she's kind of crazy for doing it at all, let alone doing it in one day. She doesn't like flying, though. Never has. She always makes excuses when going on tour with us would mean flying somewhere, although she has bit the bullet a few times. That's just Kate, though. She chooses the hardest way possible to do anything, just to prove that she can.

Maybe that's why she picked a husband who's so hard to love. 

She's somewhere in Arkansas by the time I finish my ridiculous cleaning spree and sit down on the couch to relax with a beer and a frozen pizza. Not the healthiest meal, but there's no one here to judge me for it and all evidence of it will be gone by the time the one person who would judge me for it is here. I don't really care anymore, though. I'm just so _tired_.

Which I suppose is why I fall asleep somewhere around halfway through the can of beer. It's not even like I've been drinking all day. It's just the one, and I'm definitely not drunk. The sound of my own loud snoring jars me awake and I have no clue how long I've even been asleep, but there's a text from Kate letting me know that she stopped to pick up Taco Bueno just outside of town, so I guess I've been out for quite some time.

Every one of Kate's actions today, from the constant texts to buying my favorite fast food, points to her trying to mend fences. It makes me nervous. I don't know what she expects from me. Are we just going to go back to normal now and pretend that she never left? I don't know. I don't know anything.

What I do know is that she sent that text several minutes ago, which means she probably isn't that far from home. I jump up off the couch and down the rest of my beer in one gulp, then head to the kitchen to toss out the can and wash my empty pizza plate. Hopefully I'll have time to clean up this last little bit of my sloppiness before Kate arrives. I don't know why I'm trying to impress her, but I can't really deny that's what I'm doing.

In a moment of absolutely perfect timing, I hear her car in the driveway at the exact moment that I put the last dish in the drainer. Isn't it funny how life has a way of just working out like that sometimes? If only everything could be so easy. I have a feeling this will be the last easy moment I have all evening. Luckily, it's pretty late, so there isn't _that_ much time for things to go wrong.

I rush to the garage door as soon as I hear her key begin to turn in it. If I know Kate, and I do, I know she'll be trying to carry in all of her bags and probably at least one of our sleeping children at the same time. There's no way that can possibly end well.

Sure enough, as soon as I fling the door open, I see Kate with Junia tucked onto her hip and her other hands juggling half a dozen Taco Bueno bags. Okay, maybe not quite that many, but a lot. She gives me an exhausted look that I think is probably meant to be thankful and holds out the paper bags without a word.

I take them from her and set them on the kitchen counter before turning back to see what else she needs my help with. She's already disappearing up the stairs, so I take it upon myself to check the car. Shep is snoring away in the backseat and although it takes a little effort now that he's almost not even a toddler anymore, I manage to unbuckle him and sling him across my shoulder without disturbing his sleep at all.

And just like that, Kate and I fall back into our old familiar routine of getting shit done without needing to speak a word. It's both impressive and kind of sad at the same time.

Once the kids are tucked into their beds and I've helped Kate carry in all of her bags and theirs, we make our way back to the kitchen where the food still awaits, rapidly cooling down on the counter. At this point, I don't even care if it is cold. It's still a peace offering from my favorite restaurant. How could I turn that down? 

Actually, that's not a fair question. I can think of plenty of reasons to turn it down. For example, exactly _what_ sort of peace is Kate offering? I have no clue at all, and I'm almost afraid to find out.

“Can we eat in bed?” She asks, picking up two of the bags. “I'm so tired, Zac.”

“Yeah,” I reply, grabbing a soda for myself from the refrigerator, because I highly doubt I'll be sleeping at all, and picking up the rest of the bags of food.

Kate changes into her pajamas – a pair of my old boxers and a college t-shirt – while I have first pick of the feast lying on our bed. I'm not sure what it says about me that I'm more interested in the food than my half-naked wife, but I think I'm past the point of really worrying about my sexuality. It is... whatever it is, I guess.

Once I've located a couple of tacos, nachos, cheese and salsa, I settle in to eat. Kate joins me and only picks up a bag of plain nachos. I'm not surprised; even before she started those crazy fasts, she didn't eat nearly enough, at least not by my standards. But I eat enough for an entire football team, so that's not saying much.

We eat in silence for a while, the constant crunch of nachos the only sound. I know eventually we _have_ to talk, but it doesn't look like Kate is going to be the first to speak, so I decide to take some initiative for once.

“Did you guys, umm, did you have a good time?”

For a second, I fear that Kate is going to say something sarcastic, because I know it's a stupid question, but finally, she nods. “Yeah, it was good. They really enjoyed seeing their Nana and Papa. It was just.. good to get away.”

“Away from me,” I reply, trying to keep my voice light. It's more of a joke than a real admonishment, anyway.

“I guess,” she replies. “Just away from everything. But... well, Nat's going to need me here now.”

I nod. “I know. I know that's why you came back.”

“It's not the only reason,” she replies, her brow furrowing. I'm trying to be good here, but it's clear that I'm still testing her nerves that are probably already frayed from so many hours in a car with two small kids. “You and me... we've got to figure out what's going on here. We've gotta do... something.”

She doesn't want to say divorce. I can practically see her tip-toeing around the word, as though not saying it will mean it isn't what we're inevitably heading toward. But it is. I know it is, and she knows it is. I thought there was a glimmer of hope in the way she acted today, but now I can see that nothing has really changed. We're just both so tired.

“So what are we going to do?” I ask, even though I highly doubt that Kate has any answers for me.

“I really don't know,” she replies, gingerly picking a quesadilla out of the bag. She tears off small pieces of it and takes her time chewing them.

I really don't know, either. This is, strangely, the most comfortable I've felt with her in a long time, even though I know I have a million reasons not to. All I need to do is remember the things I've done with Carrick and Taylor and the realization that I'm an awful husband comes crashing down on me. But these small moments alone with Kate are good. These are the things I'll miss once it's over.

“You know,” Kate says with a heavy sigh and I have to brace myself. God only knows what could follow that. “I should probably... I mean, Natalie really needs me right now.”

“Okay?” I reply, not at all sure where she's going with that train of thought.

“Well, she's going through a lot, you know? And who... who can relate better to what she's going through right now than I can?”

I nod and reach out a hand to touch Kate's knee. It's not exactly a romantic gesture, and I doubt she'll interpret it that way, but I know I need to do something. I know that whatever I felt when we lost those babies is nothing compared to what Kate felt. I can't even begin to relate to her, or to Natalie, right now.

“It won't... hurt anything if we wait a while to sort out _our_ problems, right?” Kate asks, in that tone of voice that says she's already made up both of our minds.

“No, I suppose it won't,” I reply.

“Good,” Kate says, pushing her food away and wiping her hands together. “I think... I think I'll go stay with her at Pam's for a while. Just until she feels a little better, you know? It won't be like I'm in another state this time.”

I'm not really sure what she means by that. Does she have any clue what happened while she was gone? How could she? I've done a pretty good job of hiding who I really am from her, and even as I think that, I realize how awful it sounds. The truth is bound to come out eventually, but I know that even if she's on the other side of town, I'll still be hiding. For now, at least, the truth will stay hidden.

“We'll figure things out,” Kate says. It almost sounds like a question more than it does a statement. How could she know what the future possibly holds for us? 

From where I'm sitting, the future can't possibly hold anything good. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick and like I shouldn't be sharing a bed with her. I think this will officially be the first time I've kicked _myself_ out of our bed.

“I'm just... umm, I'm gonna go downstairs and finish eating. I'll let you get some rest, okay?”

Kate nods and almost smiles. Of course she's clueless as to what I'm really thinking, and that just makes me feel worse.

She hands off the rest of the food to me and I balance it precariously in my arms while she curls up under the covers. She looks so comfortable and at home that you'd hardly even believe that she's been gone for days. Everything looks perfect, but I know it's not.

A few moments later, I've made my way to the kitchen. The entire house is so quiet that it seems every move and every sound I make is amplified. It's good to have other people–-besides Carrick, of course-–in the house again. With Kate gone, I could see just how easy it would be for me to become a hermit. Obviously I'd have to leave eventually for concerts and things, but if left to my own devices, I would probably only leave my house to go shopping.

That can't possibly be healthy and I'm not sure what it says about me. I'd rather not dwell on that. I've got enough problems.

The crunch of my nachos is so loud that it might as well be a gunshot. I pause for a moment, but no one seems to stir. I'm all alone, even when the house _isn't_ empty. I wonder if it will be like this for the entire time that Kate stays here. Then I wonder how long that will be. It can't go on forever, though; I think we both know this is over. It's only a matter of time.

That train of thought leads me to wondering how long Kate will stay with Natalie, and how that is going to work, anyway. Will she take the kids with her? Or will she leave them with me? She might joke about how awful of a father I am, but I know that deep down, she _does_ trust me with them. That's probably the only positive thought she can spare for me, though.

I pull another beer from the refrigerator, because if I'm already throwing myself a pity party, I might as well go in all the way. My life these days seems to be nothing but a constant stream of pity parties for one reason or another.

But most of them can be traced back to only one cause. Me.


	26. Kids

To avoid disturbing Kate, I don't go back up to our bedroom once I finish my late night snack. She deserves a little rest. Actually, she probably deserves a _lot_ of rest. So, I banish myself to the couch and fall into a surprisingly easy sleep there.

So, easy, in fact, that I don't wake up until I feel something poking the side of my face.

I peel my eyes open slowly and find Shepherd standing in front of me, a puzzled look on his face. His little brow is furrowed and his finger reaches out to poke my face again before he realizes that I am actually awake.

“Mommy said to wake you up,” he says simply, then walks away, his job done.

That's my son. If he didn't look so much like me-–when he doesn't look exactly like Kate, that is-–I wouldn't even believe such a serious, quiet little thing could possibly be my offspring. But he is. Truthfully, I can see a lot of myself in him. If no one had ever told me that I was weird, if I hadn't ever felt like I didn't even fit in my own skin, I probably would have been a lot like him. I wouldn't have needed to be such a clown if I'd felt like just being me was okay. Shep's lucky like that, I guess. At least I can look at him-–and Junia-–and know that Kate and I have done something right.

I can hear sounds coming from the kitchen, so I don't need to wonder where Kate is. I'm sure that she probably told Shepherd to tell me breakfast was ready, but he woke me up, so that was good enough. My bones creak like I'm an old man as I pull myself off the couch. When did I start to feel this damn old? It seems like I've gone from twenty to fifty overnight. Groaning, I pad to the kitchen to see if I'm correct in guessing that Kate is waiting for me there.

Sure enough, she's sitting at the kitchen table, helping Junia to spoon a few cheerios into her mouth. Shepherd's got his own bowl of cereal, already half eaten, and Kate only has a glass of orange juice. Typical-–for both of them.

“I didn't cook anything, sorry,” Kate says. “I've got to get going soon.”

I don't ask where she's going, because I think I can guess. She's going to stay with Natalie. I'm not even that bothered that she didn't cook breakfast, although I had gotten used to Carrick's bacon and eggs every morning. With Kate, though, it's usually better when she _doesn't_ try to cook. I'm disastrous in the kitchen to the point of actually being a hazard to my own health. Kate isn't that bad, but her cooking has never been anything to write home about. So, needless to say, I'm not really upset about having to pour myself a bowl of cereal.

I opt for the same Cocoa Puffs that I'm surprised she even bought for Shep. She's a health food nut, even when it comes to the typical little kid foods. On the other hand, Shep has a pout that's pretty much impossible to refuse. I'm glad that in this case, he pouted his way into some chocolate. I have a feeling this is going to be the best part of my day.

With my bowl of cereal in hand, I sit down at the table. It's so strange to be back here with the three of them, sitting down to a meal together like the perfect little family. At the same time, it's hard to figure out exactly at which point we stopped _really_ being the perfect family. I know we never really were, but we were good enough at pretending. We had a routine. We had figured out how to make things work, even if we weren't happy. Isn't that what marriage is? It sounds cynical, but... it _did_ work.

When did it stop?

“Zac?” 

“Hmm?” I ask, suddenly realizing my mouth is full of soggy Cocoa Puffs. I guess I zoned out for a moment.

Kate almost looks amused, but also slightly annoyed. “I asked if you would go help Shep get dressed. He can't wear his pajamas all day, even if he _is_ just going to be at home.”

Shep gives Kate a pout, but at the moment, it seems to have no effect on her at all. I have to stop myself from laughing. You can't really fault the kid for trying, and chances are, I won't change out of the t-shirt and sweatpants that I wore all day yesterday, too. 

“Yeah,” I reply, realizing that Kate is staring at me, waiting for an answer. “Come on, Shep.”

He sighs, but obediently follows me when I stand up and take our cereal bowls to the sink. His is empty, of course, but I've barely made a dent in mine. I'd blame those late night nachos, but I doubt that's entirely the reason why I have no appetite. It's the fear of what this day holds, because I know that whatever it is, it's going to be a big change and I don't know how to deal with it.

Shep is oblivious to my worry, though. He follows me down the hallway and a few minutes later, I've gotten him dressed _and_ convinced him to brush his teeth. Okay, so I have to do most of the brushing for him, which isn't easy to do while he's still pouting. But the job gets done nevertheless and then he's practically sprinting down the hallway to go plug in his Wii and play Mario Kart, which I assure him I'll join him for a game of in a few minutes.

Right now, though, I know I need to talk to Kate. I find her in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess Junia made with her Cheerios. Without a word, I start putting our bowls and spoons into the dishwasher. I've long since learned that doing a tiny little chore here and there will lessen Kate's wrath, if only a tiny, barely measurable amount.

Kate waits until we've finished cleaning up before speaking to me, and even then, she doesn't quite meet my eyes. 

“Okay, well,” she begins. “After I get Junia cleaned up, I'm going to head on over to Pam's house. I don't know how long I'll be there, but I'll call and check in on you guys, okay?”

“You're not taking the kids?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No... I think being surrounded by kids is the last thing Nat needs right now. You guys will be fine here, right? I can make you a list of what foods you need to pick up for them... and I can stay and throw together something for dinner tonight, if you want, so you just need to put it in the oven.”

“No,” I reply. “I mean, a list will help. I could use that. You know I'll just buy bacon and ice cream if you don't give me a list. But you go on, be with Nat. I can handle everything else.”

“Okay... if you say so,” she replies, and I can tell that she doesn't totally believe me, but she doesn't know what other choice she really has.

“Go get Junia dressed, okay? I owe Shep a game of Mario Kart, apparently,” I say, giving her the sweetest smile I can manage.

That seems to do the trick. We part ways then, Kate making her way up the stairs, while I head for the living room where Shep is already engrossed in his game. He hands me a controller and informs me that I'm going to be Bowser. I'm not sure what to make of that, but when Shep tells you that you're going to do something, then, well, you're going to do it. He, of course, is Yoshi. 

We play a few games, and he wins every single one. I'm not just letting him win, either. Okay, maybe I threw _one_ race just to make him happy. But he's my child, so of course he's great at video games already. He's in the midst of a rather inspired victory dance–-I didn't say he was a gracious winner-–when Kate walks back into the room with Junia. She deposits her on the couch next to me and kisses her forehead.

“Alright, I guess I'm ready to go,” Kate says. “Shep, Mommy will be back as soon as possible, okay? I'm just going to go visit Aunt Natalie.”

“I know,” he replies, barely even pausing in his dance.

“Can Mommy have a hug before she leaves?”

Shep pauses and gives the question serious consideration before finally walking over and giving her a hug. She glances at me then, as though she's considering asking me for a hug too, but doesn't say anything. 

“Okay,” she says. “Well... I'll see you all later, I guess.”

“Goodbye, Katie,” I say, not knowing what else to do. It isn't much, but it's the best I've got. 

She gives me a look, but then nods. I guess she's decided that's good enough for her. Seconds later, she's gone, the slamming of the door barely audible over the Mario Kart music playing on a loop. Just like that, I'm alone with the kids again. It's different this time, though. Last time was only a weekend trip; this time, who knows how long it might be.

The kids, of course, don't seem to notice that anything is wrong. If they do, I suppose they're both still too young to really know _what_ might be wrong. I guess it's better that way. As long as they're both still happy and clueless as to what's really happening to their parents' marriage, then maybe they'll come out of it unscathed.

I know how horribly cynical that is, but it's the best outcome I've got any right to hope for.

I settle in for another game or ten of Mario Kart, hoping that will help stave off the pity party I can feel trying to start within me. It's impossible to be depressed with my babies by my side, though. Even when Shep is kicking my ass at the game I bought for him and taught him how to play and Junia isn't really doing _anything_ aside from trying to tie my hair in knots, they just make everything better.

The rest of the day passes us by pretty quickly. Despite whatever reservations Kate might have, I'm really not a bad dad. It's easy enough to make peanut butter and banana sandwiches and play with Junia and her dolls. It might not be much, but it's those little things that will keep them happy. They don't need a lot to be content, and as we've already established, I'm pretty much a hermit anyway. A whole day spent playing with my kids and hiding in my house? Easy peasy.

The hardest part of the day is getting them both bathed, in pajamas and tucked into bed. Junia would rather stay in the tub forever and play with all of her little floaty toys, and Shep's at that age where he would rather do _anything_ besides take a bath. Eventually, though, I get both of them into bed, somehow. It's still fairly early, despite how long that seemed to take, so I shuffle back downstairs to the living room and turn on the television. Maybe a few hours of TV will shut my brain down enough to allow me to rest a little.

I'm just starting to drift off when my cell phone starts vibrating on the couch next to me. I flip it over and look at the screen. A new text message from Carrick. It's amazing how quickly I can practically forget about him. Obvious I remember that he exists, but when there are so many other things going on in my life... well, it's easy to disregard everything that happened between me and him in the past week. I feel so guilty that I almost don't even want to read his message, but I do it anyway.

_How are you holding up?_

I sigh. Carrick might actually be perfect, and it only makes me feel worse. I know I have to reply to him, though.

_I'm okay. Kate is staying with Nat for a while._

I don't know how long this text conversation with him is going to last, but I can already tell that it's only going to make me feel worse. Figuring that it's safe to do so while the kids are asleep, I make my way to the kitchen to get a beer while I wait for Carrick's reply.

_How long? Did she take the kids?_

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it almost seems like he's asking when he'll get to see me again. And the truth is, I don't know. I don't know how long this thing is going to interrupt all of our lives. I don't know how long Natalie and Taylor will have to grieve this before they can get back to their normal lives.

_As long as it takes, I guess. I've got the kids. They're in bed now._

That probably isn't the answer – or answers, as it were – that he was looking for. But it's the truth. What else can I tell him?

_So you're alone now? ;) Can I call?_

I know what he's really asking, and I know how I should reply. I do. But of all the things I've done lately, is a little phone sex with Carrick _really_ the worst of them? I think not. With that thought in mind, I type my reply.

_Yeah. You can call._


	27. Finger Paint

The next morning begins roughly the same way as the previous one. The only difference is that this time, I'm tucked safely into my own bed when I feel Shepherd's little finger poking the side of my face. 

“It's time for breakfast,” he says matter-of-factly.

Well, I can't argue with that, can I? I peel my eyes open and stare at him. For a moment, neither of us says anything. It's a staring contest, as though the harder he stares into my eyes, the more I'll want to cook breakfast. Or, alternately, the harder I stare into his eyes, the easier it'll be to pry myself off the mattress. In the end, he wins. I roll over with a groan and sit up.

“Alright, breakfast time,” I reply.

“Daddy?” Shepherd says. 

“Yeah buddy?”

“You smell.”

Well, that settles it. When your own son thinks you smell, you can't really argue with that either. So it looks like my schedule for the day is breakfast and a shower. I think I can handle that.

At least Shep and Junia don't seem to have any major complaints about my decision to feed them cereal again. I'm pretty sure even Junia knows how dangerous her daddy is in the kitchen. I don't really want to have to explain to Kate how I burnt the house down trying to make Eggos, so... cereal it is and sandwiches it will be for lunch. 

Once we're all fed and I've got Junia safely in her playpen and Shep safely glued to a video game, it's time for me to take a shower. Showering inevitably reminds me of the shower I shared just a few days ago with Carrick. It seems like weeks ago rather than days. I can't help touching myself when I think about it-–or when I remember my conversation with him last night. If you can even call it a conversation after it just devolved into both of us panting and moaning into our phones.

Yeah, I'm a horrible person. I've pretty much accepted this fact. 

It doesn't stop me, though. Just thinking about the things Carrick hinted at wanting to do to me gets me so worked up that it's all over pretty quickly. With a soft moan, I'm done, and all evidence of just how awful I am is washing down the drain.

After sulking around my room for an appropriate length of time and trying to convince myself that I'm really not an awful dad for jerking off in the shower while my kids play downstairs, I head back down there to see how said kids are doing. They're just fine, of course, because they're kids-–resilient and oblivious at the same time.

The rest of the morning progresses pretty easily. All I have to do is play a few games with both kids and not set anything on fire. It's really not that difficult, even for me. Things are absolutely perfect until my phone starts ringing and I recognize Taylor's ringtone. What the hell could he possibly want? 

I pick the phone up and practically sprint to the kitchen, away from prying ears, before answering it. “Hello?”

“Hey, umm... hey.”

“Hey...” I reply. Taylor sounds... well, I'm not sure how he sounds, actually, but I don't think it fits any definition of “good” that I can call to mind.

He coughs, then clears his throat a little. “Umm, I was just... I just wanted to see how you were doing. I know Kate came back last night.”

“Yeah, she did. She's with Nat now...”

“I know,” Tay replies. “Umm, listen, I know she probably left the kids with you, but it's just... I mean, shit, I don't even remember the last time I had all four of these guys by myself. I'm slightly in over my head here... so could you just...”

“Do you need reinforcements?” I ask, trying not to laugh at how pathetic Taylor sounds. I know that's entirely the wrong reaction to Taylor admitting there's something he can't do on his own, but it's far too tempting to resist teasing him just a little.

“Please?” He asks, practically whining. “It's just... Isaac will laugh at me, and Mom will pity me, and I really don't need any of that.”

But me? I'll do anything he asks of me. He knows that. “Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can get the kids ready, okay? I'll have to bring them, but I think between the two of us, we can handle six kids. Probably.”

I'm really not as convinced as I sound, but Taylor's desperate enough not to debate the issue. It doesn't taken any convincing at all to get Shepherd and Junia on board with the plan to go spend the day with Uncle Taylor, either. He's the fun uncle, of course. No surprises there, really. They'd probably just move in with him if they could. 

The drive to Taylor's passes by without incident. My kids are as quiet as ever and soon we're pulling into his driveway. Taylor's at the door before I've even managed to wrestle Junia out of her car seat, and he looks even worse than he sounded on the phone. I wouldn't have thought that was possible, but he's proven me wrong.

“Thank you so much for coming over,” he says, walking over and effortlessly unbuckling her and scooping her into his arms. He would make it look easy, even when he kind of smells and has what appears to be blue paint smeared across his cheek. “Fair warning. It's kind of a disaster zone in there.”

“I've been living like a bachelor for a week,” I reply. “I think I can handle whatever your kids have done.”

“You might think that now...” Taylor says, holding the door open for me. 

Shepherd shoots right past us both, nearly knocking me over the process. He skids around the corner, calling out to Viggo on his way. Since they're practically the same age, they-–and Monroe–-are probably closer than any other combination of cousins in the family. I'm glad, though. It would kind of suck if our kids didn't get along.

Taylor's right, though. The house is a mess. There are toys scattered all over the living room and the distinct scent of something burning or recently burnt emanating from the kitchen. I follow Taylor that way and he tucks Junia into a high chair before collapsing into the regular chair next to it.

“Okay,” I say. “What happened?”

“I cooked lunch,” he says, as though that explains everything. It does and it doesn't. Taylor's a far better cook than me, but... well, the stench in the air speaks for itself.

“And... it didn't go so well?” I offer, trying to prod him into telling me the entire story.

He shakes his head. “No. It did not. Grilled cheese for five should have been easy, right? Make a sandwich, hand it off, make the next one. Easy. Except, someone-–and I'm not naming names, but he has red hair-–decided to break out the finger paint while waiting for his lunch. And someone else-–still not naming names, but he shares his with a body of water-–decided to start a finger paint fight. They are currently in timeout, which is the _only_ reason it's so quiet in here. And no one has had lunch because I burned the very first sandwich running off to see why Penny was screaming. The answer? Blue paint in her hair.”

I let Taylor's words, of which there were many, sink in for a moment before finally giving in to the giggles that have been threatening to overtake me ever since I answered his desperate phone call. Only Taylor and his children could manage to turn lunch into this big of a disaster.

“Okay,” I finally manage to squeak out between laughs. “I'm sorry. But we can handle this. They're under control now, right?”

“I hope so. The silence is either a really good sign or a really, really scary sign. I'm hoping for the former.”

“Well, before we go investigate that, how about we make lunch?”

Taylor eyes me nervously. I can understand his concern. I did just suggest that I make lunch, and we both know that never ends well. The last time Taylor and I cooked together, we nearly blew up a grill-–no, I don't know how-–and before that, we covered the entire family kitchen in nacho cheese. In our defense, we were nine and twelve when the latter incident occurred. While his cooking has improved, mine really hasn't.

“Not grilled cheese,” I add quickly and Taylor breathes an obvious sigh of relief. “Nothing that requires actual cooking. I was thinking... peanut butter and jelly? We can handle that, right?”

“I think so,” he replies, then points a weak finger toward the counter. “The bread is over there... you know where the fridge is...”

“Hey, I came over here to help, not be your slave,” I reply, giving Taylor's chair a gentle kick as I walk by on my way to the refrigerator.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I _would_ be Taylor's slave if he asked me... in any possible sense of the word. I'm glad my back is turned to him now, because I can feel not only my cheeks but my entire body heating up and no doubt turning bright red. I try to focus really hard on the task at hand so that I won't think dirty thoughts about Taylor. It isn't easy.

A moment later, he joins me, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. Leave it to Taylor to multitask and totally show me up. I've only just managed to locate a jar of grape jelly. 

“Here,” he says, handing me the peanut butter, while still somehow managing to balance the plates.

Honestly, how does he do it? He invites me over because he thinks he's incompetent, and then shows me up. It's not really fair. I would complain, but there's really no point. 

Soon enough, he's got the plates laid out on the counter, and we start an assembly line. Two slices of bread on each plate, I slather on the peanut butter, then Taylor follows behind and adds the jelly. Six sandwiches, done. We each carry three to the table and then Taylor leans his head out of the room and yells for the kids while I dig through the refrigerator for juice boxes.

The kids come flying into the room sounding like a herd of elephants. Penny lags a little behind the rest of them and gives Taylor puppy dog eyes after picking up her sandwich and glancing around the room. He gives her a nod and she rushes off with the sandwich, presumably to eat it somewhere far away from her evil, evil brothers.

The rest of them are so loud that I couldn't say anything to Taylor now if I wanted to. It's weird to be in such a noisy house; I remember what it was like, though. The seven of us were pretty noisy, even before there _were_ seven of us. But for a long time now, it's just been me and Kate and our two very, very quiet babies. Even though I don't think Taylor's family is much happier, you wouldn't really know it just from watching the kids right now.

Once all the kids seem sufficiently distracted by trading their juice boxes-–because of course I gave them the wrong flavors-–Taylor ducks his head into the refrigerator again and emerges a moment later with two beers. He hands one to me with a small grin on his face.

“Figured we might both need this. If not yet, consider it a preemptive strike.”

“Works for me,” I reply, popping the tab on mine and taking a long gulp. “Once they get done eating, we'll just divide and conquer. Keep the paint away from Penny's hair, possibly separate the two painters... it'll work. Somehow.”

“When did you get so smart about kids?” Taylor asks.

I shrug. “Probably because I still am one?”

Taylor chuckles, then chugs half his beer in one go. I decide it's best not to remark on that. Instead, I just take a few more sips of mine, then make my way over to the table to see if Junia is having any trouble with her sandwich. She's face first in it, but her method seems to be working pretty well, so I figure I'll deal with the fallout later. I nod toward the living room and Taylor gives me a smile, grabbing my beer from the counter before following me.

We settle into the living room couch, where it's only marginally quieter than the kitchen. It'll do, though. For a while, neither of us says a word. We just sit there together, draining the rest of our beers. Finally, Taylor slams his can down on the coffee table.

“Thank you so much,” he says, scooting a tiny bit closer to me. “You didn't have to come over.”

“Yeah, I kinda did,” I reply.

“Well, either way... I'm glad you're here.”

Taylor sighs and lays his head against my shoulder. I really don't know what else to say, but I guess maybe words aren't even necessary right now. It's nice to just enjoy this moment with him. It seems every moment we've had together lately has been interrupted by something or someone-–usually Taylor himself, but not always. I just want to be _with_ him for a moment, even if it's just sitting together like this in a way that's almost meaningless. To me, it means the world.

Soon, the sound of tiny footsteps catches our ears, and Taylor quickly jumps away from me. A moment later, Shepherd and Viggo appear in front of us. 

“Daddy, can I show Shep my new video game? I think River has it...”

“Sure,” Taylor replies. “Tell River I said he better help you find it.”

Knowing that probably isn't going to work, Taylor shoves himself up off the couch before Viggo and Shep are even out of the room. He gives me a quick look before disappearing around the corner, and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. It almost looked like he was just as sad to have our little moment interrupted as I was.

Could he be? 

I don't think I'll ever really understand what's going on in Taylor's mind. The more I try, the farther I seem to be from actually gaining any insight. At some point, maybe I'll lose all will to try, but it hasn't happened yet.

A moment later, Taylor returns to the living room with Junia in his arms. He deposits her on the floor near us with some baby toy that he must have dug out of storage somewhere, then collapses on the couch next to me with a long sigh. Junia is totally distracted, so Taylor scoots just a tiny bit closer to me. He's barely touching me this time, but it's just as nice as before.

I know it will get interrupted again, but for however long as it lasts, I'm going to enjoy this moment.


	28. Long Day

With me there to distract the older kids and the younger kids down for their afternoon naps, Taylor feels much more confident in his ability to cook us all dinner without burning the house down. I don't doubt his ability at all. His cooking is the one of the few things he's modest about, but I happen to think it's also one of the things he's best at. 

It's impossible to reach a consensus with six kids, so I'm not even sure what Taylor has decided to cook. I'm too busy helping Penny defend her Barbie castle against Ezra and River's light sabers and Junia's attempts to chew everything in sight to really worry about dinner, anyway. I'm sure Taylor can handle it.

When he finally calls us all to the kitchen, I see that he's managed to lay out an absolute feast for us. Mashed potatoes, peas, macaroni and cheese and fried chicken. How he managed to cook all of that himself when he burned one grilled cheese at lunch is a mystery that may never be solved. Like so many things about Taylor, I suppose, it just makes no damn sense. I'm not surprised at all to see him pulling a huge pan of fluffy yeast rolls out of the oven   
just as I walk into the room with Junia and Penny. 

The boys all follow closely behind me, and soon we're all sitting down at the table like a normal family. It's funny how I feel more comfortable here with Taylor and his kids than I do basically anywhere else. Maybe it's because I'm used to a huge, noisy family. Maybe–-and this is the more likely option-–it's just because I'm with Taylor.

I don't like getting so sappy over him, but it seems to just keep happening. There was a time when I would have sworn that what I felt for him was just lust. Or, if it was more than that, it was just a stupid, childish crush. It was definitely wasn't love-–at least, not any sort of love other than the sort you were supposed to feel for your brother.

Now, I'm not so sure.

I try not to think about that very much, because I don't think it's really good for my appetite. And this dinner looks amazing. It may be pretty simple, kid-friendly food, but I don't care. Like I told Taylor, I never really stopped being a kid. I pile my plate high with heaping helpings of _everything_ and graciously accept the second beer that Taylor offers me. It's been hours since the first, so I highly doubt I'll be even a little bit buzzed.

Dinner is full of so much chatter from all of the kids that once again, Taylor and I barely to get to speak a word to each other. That's okay, though. Our silence, even if its surrounded by noise, is kind of enjoyable. The less we talk, the less we _do_ , the happier I seem to be. There's nothing getting in the way of us just existing together in the same space. It's easy to pretend that things are simple, and not really weird and kind of fucked up, when we're just together like this.

Neither one of us has said a word about the lost baby today. I wonder if the kids really even understand what happened. Ezra and Penny might be old enough to grasp the concept, but I'm not sure that the youngest ones would really understand. But who knows. Kids are a lot smarter and more perceptive than we give them credit for. They must be wondering where their mom is, at least.

It isn't long before we've all demolished the entire dinner, leaving nothing in our wake but empty plates. Taylor and I both look utterly exhausted, leaning way back in our chairs and nursing the last few sips of our beers, but the kids are somehow still full of energy.

“Can we go outside and play?” River asks.

Taylor eyes him for a moment, probably trying to decide if he's plotting some new way of getting himself into trouble. Eventually, with all the other kids joining in the begging, Taylor relents. “Yeah, alright. I guess you can play outside for an hour or so before you've got to get ready for bed. And Uncle Zac probably has to go home...”

He says the last part like he really doesn't want me to, but I think we both know that I didn't come over here prepared to spend the night. I wish I had, though. I'm just not that good at thinking ahead.

The kids don't seem a bit deterred by the knowledge that they only have an hour outside or that their favorite uncle is leaving soon. Nope, not at all. They're up and running for the door as soon as Taylor says the magic words – “yeah, alright” – their dinner dishes completely forgotten and abandoned on the table. Taylor glances at the mess and shakes his head.

“I'll clean this up,” he says. “You go on out there and keep an eye on them, alright?”

“Sure,” I reply.

I hoist Junia up out of the high chair and balance her on my hip while I glance through the refrigerator for something that isn't alcoholic or a kiddy drink. After a second, I manage to locate an iced tea. I'm surprised Natalie will even allow the canned stuff in her house; it can't possibly be authentically southern, but here it is. I have to admit, I like this stuff better than the homemade, overly sugary version she and Kate insist on anyway. So, with my tea in one hand and my daughter in the other, I make my way outside to make sure none of our children have managed to injure themselves yet.

There's a comfy looking deck chair that seems to have a nice view of the whole lawn, so I decide to claim it for myself. I let Junia go and soon she's running off to chase after Penny. I know Penny doesn't really love having a toddler mimicking her every move, but as the only two girls in the family, they do kind of have a bond. She lifts Junia up into the baby swing and pushes her, while the boys appear to be chasing each other in circles around a tree, armed once again with light sabers. As long as they're happy, and they seem to be for now, I can just sit here and relax.

I sit out there for a long time, just watching our kids run around and play, before I finally hear the sliding door open again. For a brief moment, the loud sound of a dishwasher catches my ear, and then the door slides back into place again. From the corner of my eye, I see Taylor sliding another deck chair close to mine-–so close that they actually bump against each other-–and flop down onto it.

“Having fun?” He asks, a tiny smirk crossing his face.

“I guess,” I reply. “I think I was about to fall asleep, actually. Not that they're boring to watch, but...”

“But it's been a long day, yeah,” Taylor finishes for me.

That's an understatement. It's probably not even half of what Taylor really feels, but sometimes he's not really the drama queen that he seems. Sometimes he bottles everything up so that you'd have no clue anything at all was wrong with him.

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding. “It has been. We got through it, though.”

“Only because you were here,” he says, sliding his hand over to rest it on my leg. 

It's a risky move, and I can feel myself blushing and my heart beating faster. I glance around at our kids. Of course none of them have noticed. We're safely secluded on the deck, and they're too busy having fun in the summer evening heat to care what their dads are doing. Still, it's really, really risky. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop him, though.

He doesn't stop there, of course. He runs his fingers up and down my thigh like playing a piano. I make myself as still as possible and focus on the feeling to see if I can tell what melody he's trying to play. I can't. Maybe it's nothing at all, just something he's making up on the spot. Whatever it is, it's my new favorite song. 

“Tay...” I gasp out, not even planning to say it. I hope it doesn't ruin this moment we're sharing.

It doesn't, as far as I can tell. Taylor continues playing his little melody on my thigh, finally coming to a rest on my inner thigh, dangerously close to my dick. I'm a little embarrassed to let him see how much of an effect he's had on me with just a few fingers, but if he keeps going, he's going to see-–well, feel-–it pretty soon.

Taylor sighs, his fingers just teasing me, not even really touching me there at all. “I wish you could spend the night...”

“I wish I could, too,” I admit. “Maybe tomorrow? Or the next night? We've got time...”

Although, to be honest, with Taylor touching me like that, I'm having trouble remembering _why_ I can't spend the night. Oh, right. I didn't bring pajamas or anything for the kids. It's a pretty flimsy excuse, but I know Junia can't sleep without her favorite stuffed rabbit. I might be a horrible person, but I'm not going to force her to spend a sleepless night here just so that I can do sinful things with her uncle. I do have some morals after all, it seems.

“Mmm, aren't Ang and Johnny having another barbecue tomorrow night?” Taylor asks.

“Oh... yeah, I think so,” I reply. It appears I'm having trouble remembering _anything_ right now, and Taylor's barely touching me at all. I'm pathetic.

“I don't think I want to go,” Tay says. “Maybe we can pawn the kids off on Mom and Dad and just... spend a night in together?”

It's tempting to give in to him. Really, really tempting. He's still barely touching me at all, but I'm coming undone anyway. Still, I know that he's really just looking for an excuse to stay inside and avoid the world. And while that might be what he wants to do, it isn't what will ultimately make him feel better. I didn't get the chance to stay inside and mourn after Kate's miscarriages, but in the end, having to go on and play concerts helped me to move on. 

“Or,” I say, “we could pawn the kids off on Mom and Dad and go get ridiculously drunk with our friends.”

Taylor sighs and his hand pauses on my leg. I fear he's going to stop entirely and push me away or something, but he doesn't. After seeming to consider my statement for a moment, he finally says, “Yeah, okay. I guess. But I know you. You'll get stoned. I'll get drunk.”

“Whichever,” I reply with a shrug. “Point is, it won't kill us to go out, get fucked up, and enjoy some other people's company.”

“Alright... but just this once.”

I give him a nod, but it isn't a promise. This is just the beginning. Just one day. He'll have to leave the house for more than just this one party, but we can work our way up to that. For now, he can't leave very much, anyway, not while we're both still trying to juggle all our kids without any help. But one party is a tiny, baby step in the right direction.

“It's getting kind of late,” he remarks.

I glance around, and realize that it has gotten dark all around us. When did that happen? Has it been an hour? The way Taylor scowls at his cell phone when he pulls it out to check the time tells me that it probably has.

“Alright, kids,” he calls out loudly. “Time to go inside! You can watch a little tv, but then you've all gotta get in bed.”

There are groans all around, but reluctantly the kids start shuffling toward the door. Most of them, anyway. I walk across the lawn to help Penny remove Junia from the swing, and pull a light saber out of River's hand just before it connects with Viggo's head. With the two of us working together, Taylor and I somehow manage to herd the kids inside. I've never felt like more a sheep dog in my life.

Once his kids are planted in front of the television, Taylor walks out to my truck with me. He helps me buckle Junia into the car seat, because that seems to be a skill I have never picked up, and assures Shep that he will get to come back and visit soon. Finally, it's just the two of us standing outside the truck, with the doors shut and no kids bugging us.

Taylor stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at his feet for a moment. “Like I said... thanks for coming over.”

“It's no problem,” I reply. “You know you just have to ask and I'll do anything.”

There it is. It may not be the first time I've said it, but from the look on Taylor's face as he nods, I think it's the first time he's truly understood what I meant. It doesn't really _change_ anything between us, but it does feel like a big deal to have the words actually hanging in the air around us. 

“Well... I'll see you tomorrow night,” I say, trying to find a way to end this moment before it turns into something the kids don't need to see.

“Yeah, I'll see you,” Taylor replies. 

He looks like he wants to hug me or kiss me or something, but he doesn't. He just turns and walks back into his house, leaving me standing there in the driveway like an idiot. Somehow, even though I'm the one leaving, it still _feels_ like Taylor's leaving me.


	29. Drunk and Stoned

It's ridiculously easy to pawn the kids off on Mom and Dad. I knew it would be. If there's anyone crazy enough to want someone else's half a dozen kids in their house overnight, it's our parents. And they can handle them, too. After all, they raised the seven of us under pretty crazy conditions, and well, at least five of us turned out normal and well adjusted.

The usual group is gathered at Angelene and Johnny's, doing our usual barbecue and booze routine. Carrick isn't there, but Austin is, and he's brought some pretty good weed. He and I get really well acquainted with the alley beside the house, where no one else can see our smoke drifting up and mingling with the smoke from the grill. If they do see it, they don't care enough to call us out. I know we're not the only stoners there, anyway, but we're the only ones not bothering to pretend that we're responsible adults.

At some point, I do start to wonder why Carrick hasn't shown up. He couldn't possibly have better plans; practically everyone he knows in Tulsa is here. But that was before I started sharing this bowl with Austin. Now, I can't really think about anything but the flecks of paint chipping off the side of the house, and that's just fine by me. It's nice to just not think at all.

All too soon, though, I'm distracted. Someone must have told a really funny joke, because laughter rings out all through the yard and of course, I have to look. Taylor's right in the middle of the crowd, his eyes twinkling so brightly that it makes me smile even though I have no clue what he's talking about. It doesn't matter. He still lights everything up. God, I'm pathetic. I'm so far past the point of pretending this is just lust that it isn't even funny anymore.

Taylor, of course, catches me staring at him. To my surprise, his smile only grows as he stares back at me. I'm not sure what to make of that at all. No matter what Taylor does, it seems, I'm totally confused. Maybe the problem is me, not him.

“Zac,” Austin says. “You wanna hit it again, or you ready to head back to the party?”

“I guess... umm...” I say, then shake my head to try to clear it. It doesn't work. Slowly, I drag myself away from Taylor's stare and back to Austin's confused face. “Umm... actually, I think I'm done for now.”

“Yeah, you look like it.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, then walk away from him, hoping that he was exaggerating.

I really don't want to look like a total fucking burnout when I try to blend into the crowd here. I just need to be closer to Taylor. I don't know why, but do I really need a reason? And when _don't_ I want to be closer to him? It's pretty much a fact of my life that I will always want to be superglued to Taylor's side.

Of course, my attempt to sneak into the fold doesn't work out as well as I planned.

Johnny claps a hand across my shoulder as soon as I'm within reach and asks, “You having fun, man?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Tons.”

“I can tell,” he replies, coughing exaggeratedly just to make sure I get his point. He's smiling, though, because he really doesn't care what we do as long as we don't get the cops called. He's a nice guy like that.

“Tay was just telling us about the prank you guys pulled on your last opener,” Joe says.

I'm pretty sure that prank was my idea, but I don't feel the need to point that out. I don't really care at all if Taylor has decided to claim it was his very own idea. It would be just like him, of course, to take credit for everything. But right now, when I'm so completely enamored with his entire existence, I don't really care _what_ he says or does.

Johnny finally removes his hand from my shoulder. “Alright, I better check on the grill again. Zac, Tay, do you guys care to run in the house and grab some more beer? I think we're getting low out here.”

I'd question why he picked the two of us, but again, I really don't care. I'm just glad he did. Tay's still got a beer in his hand, and the cup sloshes a little as he decides it's _his_ turn to throw an arm around my shoulder. Again, I don't really care. I'll happily let him guide me into the house, even if I've already nearly forgotten why we were going into the house anyway.

We make our way into the house together, Taylor only letting go of my shoulder so that we can pass through the hallway without slamming into the walls. Once we're in the kitchen, he drains the rest of his beer and slams the empty plastic cup onto the kitchen counter with dramatic finality. Then he just leans there, apparently expecting me to do all the work. So, naturally, I do.

I open the refrigerator and see that there's an unopened twenty four pack on the bottom rack. I bend over and wrap my arms around it, and begin to ease it off the shelf. I don't even notice that Taylor has, apparently, walked up right behind me, until I feel his body pressed along the length of mine. 

“Need any help?” he asks, placing a hand on my hip as though that's going to help me lift this case of beer.

“Umm,” I reply, my fingers slipping off the case. “I think... I think I can handle it.”

“Mmm, I'm sure you can,” Taylor replies.

What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?

“I wish you would have stayed last night...” Taylor says, a thought that seems totally unrelated to whatever he was saying before. “We could have finished what we started...”

Started? What did we start? I don't have to ask myself that question long, though, before Taylor answers me. His answer comes in the form of his hand creeping around to grasp for my dick. And, of course, because I'm this damn close to Taylor, I'm already so hard that he has no trouble finding it at all and giving it quite a squeeze.

I let out a groan, not caring how loud I am because we're alone inside the house, and slowly manage to straighten myself up so that I can feel Taylor pressed against every inch of my body. He backs me away from the refrigerator and slams the door, then slams _me_ up against the refrigerator. At least I had the presence of mind to brace myself against it, my hands scrambling for purchase against the cool plastic of the door. Taylor's lips find their way to my neck and I'm powerless to stop myself from moaning loudly. 

I don't care that we're in someone else's kitchen. I don't care that there's a party going on just outside. I don't care that I'm stoned and Taylor is probably very drunk, if the heavy smell of beer on his breath is anything to judge by. I don't fucking _care_. All I care about is that he's close to me now and I don't want him to stop. I need him – right here and right now.

“Taylor...” I gasp out, trying to put everything I'm thinking into words and only managing to come up with his name. 

“Yeah?”

“I... I want...” I'm still kind of failing at the whole speaking thing. It's just the effect Taylor has on me, though. I can't even think when he's touching me like this, his hand working me expertly even in spite of the layers of clothing between us.

Luckily, I don't seem to need to words to let Taylor know what I want. We've always been kind of in sync like that, and I've never been more grateful for it than now. He tosses me around like I'm a ragdoll, like I'm absolutely putty in his hands, and I guess I am. Before I can even try to say anything else, his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding between them. He pops the button on my jeans, then slides the zipper down torturously slowly. He knows what he's doing to me, how crazy he's driving me. He has to know.

He's kind of a bastard like that, and I don't care at all, as long as he doesn't fucking stop.

When he pulls back from the kiss, I find myself lurching forward, longing to be closer to him again. Seconds later, though, he's dropping to his knees and I don't mind at all that the kiss had to end. I know we shouldn't do this here, where anyone can walk in, but when Taylor looks up at me and licks his lips, I can't find it in myself to tell him to stop. He pulls my dick out of my underwear and slowly licks it from tip to base and the word _stop_ ceases to be a part of my vocabulary at all.

I grab a fistful of Taylor's hair, but it doesn't matter. He'll set his own pace and do this exactly the way he wants to, no matter what I say or do. Thankfully, he's apparently decided that painfully slow isn't the best pace right now, not when we're in someone else's kitchen. But no matter the speed, he's still incredibly skilled. My head falls back against the refrigerator door and I give in to the feeling of Taylor's mouth wrapped around me. 

I wish this could last forever, but with Taylor's expert tongue already probing my slit, I know it won't. All too soon, I'll be coming down his throat. The thought of that only turns me on even more, and I let out a loud groan. I want to watch. I _need_ to watch. I open my eyes and stare down at him and it only makes me moan even louder. I don't think I've ever seen Taylor look more beautiful than he does when he's down on his knees. Is that twisted? No more so than the rest of this, I suppose.

Slowly, I become aware of the fact that we're not alone. There's a second set of eyes on me. I wonder how long we've been watched and why they haven't said anything. I pry my eyes away from Taylor and look toward the doorway to see who it is.

Carrick.

He meets my eyes and I can't read the look on his face at all. He's just _staring_ at me. So I stare back. Taylor, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware, still working his mouth around me, drawing me ever closer to my orgasm. 

Every time I think that this can't get more twisted, something proves me wrong. Here I am, getting head from my beautiful, talented brother... while my best friend just stands silently to the side and watches. I want desperately to know what Carrick is thinking, but I can't ask. I can't say a word. I can't do _anything_ to ruin this moment. It feels like if I even breathe too loudly, I'll wake up from this dream and find myself alone. But even in my wildest, sickest dreams, I couldn't have created a situation like this.

I tighten my grip on Taylor's hair, as though I could hold him in place. If he looks up, or off to the side, and sees Carrick, I fear that would ruin this entire moment. No, Taylor can't see Carrick. He doesn't seem to care that I'm practically shoving him onto me, forcing myself deeper into his mouth. Taylor just keeps on sucking, totally oblivious to the fact that Carrick is standing mere feet away.

With Taylor sucking his hardest and Carrick staring right into my eyes, it's really more than I can handle. In a matter of seconds, I'm falling over the edge. I never break my stare with Carrick, though, even when my orgasm hits me. I just grip Taylor's hair a little bit tighter, not feeling the need to give him any more warning than that. He swallows all I've got to offer easily, though, and stays there to lick up every drop.

When Taylor finally pulls away and looks up at me, Carrick slips silently from the room. I'm left there, tucking myself back into my pants and wondering if that really happened at all, while Taylor effortlessly hoists the twenty-four pack over his shoulder and saunters out of the room.


	30. Clouds

I'm torn. There's a part of me, driven mostly by the lust still coursing through my veins, that wants to chase after Taylor. He's already gone, though. Oh, he might still be at the party--he probably is-–but for me, he's already gone. Whatever passed between us has already left, and the moment is over all to soon, like it always is.

The rest of me wants to chase after Carrick, and that's the part that I give in to.

I can only hope that he's still there. He fled the room just as quickly as Taylor, if not moreso, but I can't imagine that he would leave the party entirely. He'll at least hang around and say hello to everyone and pretend that everything's okay. I hope.

As I make my way back through the house, I try to prepare some kind of excuse about having to use the bathroom or something. It doesn't matter, though. They hardly even seem to notice that I've been missing. Only one pair of eyes find me as I step back into the yard. 

Carrick.

I can't read the emotion in his eyes, though. They're usually so blue, but right now, they're dull and gray. It reminds me too much of Taylor; his eyes were never quite that bright, but over the years, they've lost their intensity, just like the rest of him. Now Carrick's are the same shade, more like storm clouds than the brilliant sky blue I love staring into. 

He turns back to Johnny and says something, not loud enough for me to hear, then breaks away from the crowd. He's digging through his pockets as he makes his way to me, and I'm not surprised at all when he pulls out a pipe and nods toward the alley. I give him a nod, and follow behind him, but not closely. It feels wrong, somehow, to be so close to Carrick right now.

Once we're concealed around the corner of the house, he brings the pipe to his lips and pulls out his lighter. I'm captivated by his movements, watching the way his already hollow cheeks draw in even tighter as he sucks on the pipe until it crackles to life. There's something so erotic about it, even compared to what I just witnessed Taylor doing. And as soon as I compare him to Taylor again, I feel sick. How can I even compare the two of them, when they're so different?

He takes a long hit before passing the pipe to me and I'm powerless to refuse it. Everything that's happened since I was last in this alley has ruined my high, and I'm desperate for something to cling to, something to anchor me. I know this won't be it, not for long, but for the moment, it'll do. We pass the pipe back and forth a few times before either of us speaks.

“I'm such a fucking creep,” Carrick says, then chuckles. “I mean, shit... I wasn't _trying_ to watch you guys. You were just there... and then I was there and... shit.”

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. All I can do is nod and watch a few thin wisps of smoke escape Carrick's mouth as he laughs as the absurdity of the entire situation.

“I mean, I'm the one who said that...” he begins, then shakes his head. “Well, you can do whatever you want. It's your choice.”

I nod again. I know I need to say something, but I just don't know what. Maybe I shouldn't smoke so much; it might make me feel better, but it's not so good for my speech. I'm not exactly eloquent under the best of circumstances, anyway.

“If you're happy with him, then...”

There's more to that sentence, I'm sure of it. But whatever it is, Carrick evidently thinks better of saying it. I guess this is my opportunity to say something before he keeps rambling and only saying half his sentences.

“I'm not...” I begin, trying to adjust to the way words feel in my mouth. “I'm not happy _without_ him.”

It doesn't make a lot of sense, but Carrick nods anyway like he understands completely.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies. “Like I said, you can do whatever you want. If you wanna... be with him... then be with him. I've got no claim on you.”

“You're my best friend.” It's stupid and obvious, but it's the only thing I can find it in myself to say. That means something, doesn't it, that friendship?

“And he's your _brother_ ,” Carrick points out, but it's not with disgust, like it probably should be. “That trumps best friends. I know I'll always come second to him.”

I shake my head, but I can't say anything, because it would be a lie. He's right. No matter how long Carrick is in my life, Taylor will have been there longer, will have shared far more of the troubles–-and the good times, too-–with me. Taylor will always just be _more_ to me than anyone else could ever hope to be.

And he'll almost always be worse to me, too. It seems he'll always be so close and so far away, no matter what I do. But I guess he has to be that way. He is my brother, after all.

“I wish I didn't have to choose,” I admit, immediately feeling awful for saying it. It's like a physical blow to Carrick; I can practically see him reeling from the punch. But I _do_ have to choose, don't I? I can't have them both.

“You know, you're forgetting someone. Your wife.”

Even I'm surprised by the hoarse laugh that comes out of my mouth then. “She won't be much longer.”

“Oh,” Carrick says. “Well... solves that problem, I guess. When did you get so cynical, Zac?”

I don't like the pity mixed with accusation that I can hear in his voice, but I probably deserve them both. All I can do is shrug in reply.

“I honestly don't know. It's amazing I didn't get this way a long time ago, I think.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in close, and I let myself curl up against his shoulder blade. It's only been a few days, but it seems I'd already forgotten how good it feels to be in his arms. I've never been the smaller one, the one who needed holding. Not that I'm really the _smaller_ one now, when I outweigh Carrick by a good twenty pounds, but he holds me like I'm not just the shorter one. 

“Let's get you back, okay?” He asks. “Let's figure out how to get the old Zac back. The Zac I... know.”

I'm not sure _know_ was his first choice of word there, but I'm not going to call him out on it. The word love feels empty and hollow to me right now. I know lust and need and desire. I can say that I love Taylor, but I don't really remember the last time that feeling wasn't mixed with something painful. 

“I'm not sure he can come back,” I mumble into Carrick's shoulder.

“Bullshit. He's still there. I know he is.”

I wish I could be so certain. A few short weeks seem to have changed everything. I barely even remember what my life was like before Carrick moved here. I'm not blaming him for all the changes, of course. I don't know who to blame, although it's all too easy to pin it on Taylor. 

Carrick sighs. “You know what the worst part is?”

I'm not sure I want to ask, but I can't stop myself. I shake my head and say, “No, what?”

“It was really kind of hot,” he replies. “Watching you two, I mean. How fucked up is that?”

“Not any more fucked up that being one of the ones doing it, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I guess not.”

I know the next words out of my mouth are going to sound really odd, but I can't stop them from tumbling out. It just feels like they need to be said, and hopefully Carrick will allow me to explain so that maybe, just maybe, I make a little bit of sense.

“Thanks,” I say.

“For what?”

“For... for not getting so freaked out by all this. Especially what you just saw, but the whole thing. Just knowing how I feel about him and what's... what's happening between me and him now.”

“I keep forgetting that you've never told anyone else,” he admits with a tiny laugh. “I guess it's just... such a part of you, you know? Just a fact of you. And I forget that not everyone knows.”

I give him a little nod, my head bumping into his chin slightly and making both of us laugh. “Yeah... I guess that makes sense. It _is_ just a part of me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

I nod again, careful not to leave any bruises this time.

“What... what did you do before you met me?” He asks, brushing back my hair a little and glancing down at me. “I mean, before you told anyone... how'd you deal with it?”

“I guess I didn't,” I admit. “I don't know. I just bottled it up, you know? Categorized it under 'things that will never happen outside of my wet dreams' and married the first girl who showed more than a little interest in me.”

“There's that cynicism again,” he says, but I don't hear quite as much judgment in his voice this time.

“I'm pretty sure it's here to stay,” I reply, snuggling a little closer to him. 

I can't resist the urge to kiss his neck; it is right there, after all, just within my reach and so tempting. I know I should feel awful for trying to do anything like this with Carrick right now, after everything he's seen, but I can't stop myself. He tenses a little, but it passes so quickly that I would have missed it if I weren't so tuned in to his body. Just as quickly, he relaxes and sighs. I know that sound. I know he won't stop me if I try to go a little further...

My lips make their way up Carrick's neck, ghosting across the stubble on his chin. I'm not sure how I feel about this beard he's grown, but now isn't really the time to reflect on it. Finally, my lips find his, and it's my turn to let out a sigh. He tastes like weed and just a hint of beer. It's not a bad combination and it suits him perfectly. I want to stay there forever, drinking him in, but just as I tangle my hands in his shirt, I hear a gasp that I know didn't come from either of us.

Taylor.

He's leaning against the side of the house, obviously drunk, and his eyes are wide. Carrick and I both jump away from each other, even though it's obvious we've been caught. I glance back and forth between the two of them, trying to will either of them to speak first and spare me the torture of trying to say anything at all that will make this right. I don't think such words actually exist.

“Zac,” Taylor says, the word miles long in his drunken slur. “You're going to give me a ride home, right?”

That was what we had agreed on. We both knew I wouldn't get drunk, and even stoned, I'm a better driver than he is. Besides, we only brought my car. He'd be shit out of luck if I decided not to give him a ride home. Like so many other things between us, it was never really a question of if I would do what he asked.

“Yeah... I am...” I manage to croak out.

“Good. I'm ready to go.”

The words run together, but their meaning is clear. If he hadn't been ready to leave when he saw me with Carrick, I'm pretty sure that sealed the deal.

It occurs to me, when I look back at Carrick and see his sad, stormy eyes looking back at me, that I _could_ refuse Taylor. I've left him stranded before when he was drunk and I was angry. It's not a common occurrence, but I've done it once or twice. This time, though, I don't think I have a choice at all.


	31. Normal?

I drove Taylor home that night, but I didn't stay with him. I think it was some sort of guilt over letting Carrick see what had happened that kept me from getting out of my truck and walking into Taylor's house. If Carrick asked later, even though I knew he wouldn't, I wanted to be able to tell him that I hadn't had sex with Taylor after the party. So I went home to my big empty house and Taylor went home to his, and after a few days pass, everything seems to be back to normal.

Whatever normal is for us anymore.

There's no official schedule for us right now, since we're taking the recording process for our next album pretty slowly. Carrick and Austin are even more relaxed, so on any given day, it's really anyone's guess who will actually be in our office working, aside from the few employees who take care of the boring day to day stuff. Somehow, though, I've persuaded Taylor to come in today. I couldn't guarantee that it would just be the two of us there, so I've just got my fingers crossed as I drive across town – hoping both that Taylor will actually show and that, if he does, we'll be alone.

Of course we can't be so lucky.

He gets here just a few minutes after me, armed with his usual energy drinks and lattes. A couple various employees are here, but at least I can get Taylor away from them and into the studio, I tell myself. At least, I _could_ , if Carrick and Austin weren't currently using it. So much for getting Taylor alone.

It's not that I need to have him alone. I feel sleazy every time I think of it that way, when I'm, surprisingly, _not_ thinking about him sexually for once. I just think it will be easier to ease Taylor back into the world if he doesn't have to deal with anyone else but me for a while. That seems to be the way he prefers it, too. He did okay at Johnny and Angie's party, but it's not like those are ever especially rowdy. Not that our office is rowdy, either, but you never know what could happen. It still just seems safer to keep him to myself, no matter how selfish that seems.

Taylor steers clear of the studio and barricades himself in at his desk. I have no idea what he plans on working on all day-–probably just a game of solitaire. Whatever. I'll leave him to it and pretend to work on something at my own desk. At some point, I do want to go talk to Carrick, but I have no idea how to accomplish that while Taylor is still around. I don't even know _what_ to say to Carrick, anyway. I just know that I need to talk to him. This is all just so awkward.

Is this a love triangle? I've never been in one of those before. Although I suppose technically, as Carrick reminded me the other night, there's another side. A love square? Doesn't have the same ring to it. 

We didn't come into the office particularly early, so it's not all that long before someone comes in to ask if we want lunch. And of course, that someone just has to be Carrick. What the hell is with my luck today? I know nothing horrible has happened, so I'm really being overdramatic, but it just seems like every tiny little thing that could ruin my plan for the day is happening. I hate to think of Carrick that way, though, when I know he doesn't mean me any harm.

He doesn't look as much like he owns the place as he usually does. In fact, he's kind of sheepish, his hands in his pockets and his eyes careful to only barely meet mine and ignore Taylor completely when he asks if we'd like anything from Mexicali.

I glance at Taylor and he shakes his head, so I rattle off my usual order, plus some extra tacos just in case Taylor does decide to eat. He probably won't, but that's okay. I'm a human garbage disposal, as Kate likes to remind me; the tacos will probably find their way home with me if I haven't eaten them before we call it a day.

Carrick's been gone for a few minutes before Taylor says anything. I only anticipate his words because they're proceeded by a loud slurp on the dredges of his latte, the only sound in the room at all. The sudden and kind of disgusting reminder that he's still here makes me jump a little in my chair.

“So,” he says. “You and Carrick?”

“Yeah,” I reply, because what else can I say to something that isn't really much of a question in the first place? I'm not really sure what he's getting at, asking something like that, but I guess I'll find out eventually. Like anything with Taylor, I just have to hang on for the ride.

“Hmm,” Taylor says, pausing to slurp at his drink again, even though it's clearly empty. “Good for you. I thought it was just me.”

“Thought _what_ was just you?” I ask. Even though I'm not sure what he's implying, the casualness with which he's talking about all of this, like he should just expect me to be fucking my best friend, angers me.

“I didn't know you felt that way about any other guys. Thought it was just me.”

“Sorry to make you feel less special,” I reply, and suddenly I'm aware of that cynicism Carrick kept talking about. Maybe he was right about it.

“I didn't say that,” Taylor replies, rolling his desk chair closer to mine. I don't have to glance his way to know that's what he's doing. I can hear the scraping of the wheels against the floor and feel his body heat near me. “Just... a little surprised, that's all. So, just me and him, then? Or have there been others?”

His curiosity really does not amuse me. I'm sure he thinks he's hilarious, though. Still, I have to answer him. Taylor becomes _really_ insufferable if people ignore him. 

I really hate that this is the closest we've come to discussing what's going on between us. It's not like we're even talking about it now. It almost seems like, to Taylor, it's just a punchline to some joke. He seems so amused by my sexuality. I don't find it all that funny. But I know, again, that if I don't answer him, he won't stop asking. So I have to at least answer his questions.

“Just the two of you.”

“Hmm. Interesting,” he replies, his chair banging into mine as he attempts to get even closer to me. I'd love to know what he's thinking right now. Then again, maybe I wouldn't.

“Is it?” I ask, leaning away from him, even though at any other time, I'd find myself powerless to do anything but lean toward him. Something about his attitude today is just the exact opposite of a turn on. I didn't know it was possible for Taylor to do anything to turn me off, but apparently, he can.

Taylor shrugs, a tiny little smirk crossing his face. “A little bit. I mean, I get it. He's a good looking guy, I guess.”

“You guess?” I ask, my brow furrowing. I feel this strange, intense desire to defend Carrick--not just his looks, but his entire character, even though that wasn't what Taylor was talking about at all.

He shrugs again. “Not really my type. But he's alright. Good for you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I'm not sure I really want to know the answer to that question. It doesn't matter anyway, because it's only just left my mouth when the office door slams shut and Austin calls out that lunch is here. Taylor pushes off the floor and scoots himself quickly back to his own desk, leaving me alone and confused in front of mine. I'm really not sure what just happened here. Now that Carrick and Austin are back, I know I'm not even going to get any more half answers out of Taylor.

Austin is the first one through our door, even though Carrick is the one carrying the food. He casts a quick glance at Taylor before setting the styrofoam boxes on my desk. I'm sure there are a dozen things, if not more, that he wants to say to Taylor, and probably even more than he wants to say to me, but none of them are really appropriate at the moment-–if ever.

As I glance back and forth between the two of them – my lover and my brother who also happens to be my lover – I can't help wondering when the hell my life got this fucking weird.

“So, hey,” Austin says, cutting through the tension in the room that he seems oblivious to anyway. “We were thinking about having another party this weekend, just for the hell of it. Weren't we, Carrick?”

“Well, you were,” Carrick says to Austin, then offers me a little sympathetic-–or possibly apologetic-–shrug. “But, sure. Why not. Let's have a party.”

“Sounds like fun,” Taylor says.

There's a sincerity in his voice that takes everyone in the room-–aside from oblivious Austin-–by surprise. I stare at him, waiting for the smile on his face to crack or slip away from his eyes, but it doesn't. He really means it. He wants to go out and party, to be around friends... for a certain definition of friend, I suppose.

Isn't this what I wanted? For Taylor to be happy again? For him to be carefree? For him to just be Taylor again?

Yet, somehow, something about it feels very, very wrong.


	32. Predator and Prey

I've come to the conclusion that I'm really just not a party sort of person. At every party I've been to in the last few weeks, which feels like more than ever before in my life, I've found some secluded room or corner to hide and be alone. That strange upstairs kitchen in Carrick and Austin's house is the perfect spot. I can get drunk _and_ be a hermit. Absolutely fucking perfect.

I should know by now that perfect things can't last forever.

When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I assume it's Carrick. Other than Austin, who really knows what's upstairs? Who else would be looking for me? It's self-centered to assume that whoever is coming up the stairs is looking for me. Maybe they just need to piss and the bathroom downstairs is occupied.

But no. It's Taylor, and he is looking for me. At least, I think he is. He just sort of leans against the door frame, giving me this grin that makes me shiver. Whatever it was that turned me off a few days ago seems to have passed. Now things are back to normal-–if it was normal for one stare from my brother to turn me into a puddle of goo on the floor.

“Why aren't you partying?” He asks, his voice just a little fuzzy around the hard edges of the words, a tell-tale sign that _he's_ been partying.

I just shrug and hold up the bottle of tequila I've been drinking from. He doesn't need to know that I'm too much of a lightweight to do more than swallow two or three gulps that hardly even qualify as shots. The bottle was already half empty when I found it, so I look like a pretty big drunk swinging it around in my hand like I'm responsible for it's emptiness.

“Not much of a party up here by yourself...” Taylor mumbles.

I raise an eyebrow. “You really want me to come downstairs?”

“Nah,” he replies, shaking his head. “We can stay up here. Actually, I'd prefer if we did...”

Now I see where he's going with all this. I knew there had to be some ulterior motive; with Taylor, there always is. He's only come to me now because he wants me. I can't help feeling a little stupidly happy about that. Even if I don't really know how he feels about me, there's some part of my self-esteem that gets a boost from knowing that Taylor _wants_ me. And if he wants me now, even here in Carrick's house, I'm not sure I can refuse him.

He glances around the room, then over his shoulder into Carrick's bedroom. With a quick glance back at me, he turns on his heel and walks that way. If I lean my chair just a little bit, I can watch his ass as he disappears through the doorway. But what am I doing just watching him when he's obviously just invited me to do more than watch?

The little bit I've had to drink is enough to make me wobbly and uncertain as I walk into Carrick's room. Or maybe it's just the effect Taylor has on me. Either way, my vision is blurry so that all I can make out is Taylor, in front of me, reaching behind me to slam the door shut. I swear it echoes all around us, and it makes me wonder just how long this can go on before someone finds us. That wonder isn't quit turning into worry, though. At least, not enough to stop me.

I keep my eyes open as Taylor kisses me, because if there's a chance this is going to be interrupted, I want to see every second of it before it is. I want to see and feel all of it and have it burned into my memory, into my fucking _retinas_ so that I never forget what it's like to have sex with Taylor.

Not that I think I could ever really forget, but I'm not taking any chances.

His hands find their way to my shoulders, nudging me toward the bed. He's not forceful, really, just very deliberate. Taylor knows what he wants and he knows he's going to get it; that's how he's always been. How could I think he would be any different in bed? And me, well, I'm just me. Powerless to resist him, letting myself fall easily onto the bed – Carrick's bed, I try not to remind myself – and gazing up at Taylor as he crawls over me with a predatory look in his eyes. 

Taylor seems to be everywhere at once. His hands run up and down my sides, easing my shirt over my head, while his lips plant kisses on nearly every inch of my bare skin he can reach. It's almost too much stimulation for me to handle. This is the closest we've been, the first time we've been really alone somewhere, the first time any clothes have been removed just because they could be and not because they needed to be. If it were up to me, I'd leave my shirt on, but if Taylor _really_ wants to see my chest, then, well, I guess he can.

There's not much Taylor can't do if he wants it. And right now, with his hands working on my zipper, I'm really beginning to realize that he wants _me._

Maybe I'm just really slow, but in the weeks that he and I have been fooling around, I've never felt _wanted_ by him. I've never felt like this was more than just a game, more than just a temporary fix that he needed, like the coffee and energy drinks he mainlines to keep himself away from the real drugs. Could I really be what he wants and needs, though? Could this really be going all the way? 

It certainly seems like it is. Taylor's hands are working their way into my pants now, sliding into my underwear. I suddenly feel really self conscious about my plain white boxer briefs, even though I know that's irrational. I've always felt so inadequate next to Taylor, in every possible way. Having my body bared to him only makes it worse. In the hopes of alleviating some of that anxiety, I start tugging on his shirt while simultaneously trying to shimmy out of my pants. It's not my most sophisticated or coordinated maneuver, but he gets the hint. In seconds, he's got his shirt unbuttoned and is shrugging it off his shoulders. Now I don't feel so naked, so exposed.

But I am. Taylor's hand is wrapped around my bare cock now, nothing separating our flesh at all. I can't help groaning at the feel of it. I don't think I would be disappointed if things don't go any farther than this, and let's be honest, with as talented as Taylor is, they may not. Already it feels like too much, the pleasure just building and building inside me and threatening to break free.

I have to slow this down, even though a big part of me doesn't want to. But I want this to last. I want to make the most of this time alone with Taylor. I wiggle around until I can get my hands around his belt buckle, pulling and tugging on it until I finally manage to loosen it and shove his pants down. I haven't seen Taylor since the night I drunkenly went down on him, and I really don't remember a thing about it. I'm sober enough now that I think I'll be able to commit every inch of him to my memory. So when he stands up to finish wigging out of his too tight jeans, I do exactly that. I stare at every inch of him exposed to me-–which is basically every inch _of_ him, since apparently he didn't wear underwear today. Not that I'm complaining.

When his eyes land on me, on my body, I can feel myself blushing. I don't have those naturally rosy cheeks like him, so when I blush, I just look like an idiot with a sunburn. Taylor doesn't seem to notice or mind, though. He licks his lips as he crawls back on top of me, letting those lips come to rest on my throat as his hand finds my dick again. 

This still feels almost too good, and when he starts trailing kisses down my chest, I'm pretty sure I might actually explode before all is said and done. His hand is a little cold, but his mouth is like fire, each kiss feeling like a brand on my skin. Taylor is a brand I wouldn't mind wearing at all. 

I'm pretty sure I can guess where his lips are heading, though, and soon enough they reach their destination. He places a surprisingly gentle kiss against the head of my dick before wrapping his lips around it. I let out a loud groan as he takes me into his mouth, inch by inch. Only Taylor could make sucking cock look so effortless and yet still be so amazing at it. I'm not even comparing him to Carrick, although of course as soon as I realize that I'm not, thoughts of Carrick start flooding into my brain. I try to shut them out, but they keep seeping in, even as I try to focus on how fucking amazing it feels to have Taylor's lips wrapped around my cock. I know I couldn't possibly be as good as this as he is, so it's probably a good thing I haven't attempted to go down on him again. I wonder if he'll want me to tonight. I still have no clue where, or _how far_ , this is going

When he pulls back and slips one of his fingers between his lips, I think I can figure out exactly where this is going.

I haven't done this before. I mean, Carrick and I have fooled around a lot, but we never went all the way. I have a feeling Taylor isn't going to draw that same line and stopped with just a few fingers. Isn't this what I've wanted, though? To give everything, all of me, to Taylor.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous right now.

Taylor doesn't seem to notice, though, and I don't want him to. I want this. I really do. But I can't help looking away and closing my eyes as he brings his hand closer and closer to its final destination. He's not overly gentle with me, but he's not rough, either. It's not like I can't handle this, though. It barely hurts at all as he eases the first finger inside of me, the motion smooth and practiced. I hate how obvious it is that he's so experienced, but it's in every single thing he does. I couldn't ignore it if I wanted to. I could never ignore just how out of my depth I am with him.

But I know I'll just let him keep dragging me deeper in.

It takes him no time before he has me writhing around and moaning. My chest is heaving with the effort to breath, and even though I know it'll only make things worse, I have to open my eyes and watch him. It's torture, in a way, to watch him like this. If he looks beautiful on stage, sweaty and absolutely in his element, it's nothing compared to how he looks now, lazily sucking my cock while working his fingers in and out of me.

He's got two fingers inside of me now, almost pushing me past my limits. If this is too much, if this is almost pushing me over the edge, pleasure and pain at the same time, then how could I possibly take this all the way? I'm starting to panic a little at the thought of it, but at the same time, there's no way I could ask him to stop.

Taylor definitely shows no signs of stopping on his own, not even when the bedroom door creaks open and I glance up to see Carrick standing there. Taylor only pauses, his fingers remaining in place and his breath tickling my sensitive skin. 

I glance back and forth between the two of them, absolutely clueless as to what I should say. I know I should say something. One of us has to, and it ought to be me, since this is all my fault. I'm the selfish one, the one who can't choose between the two of them. The one who has gotten us all into this mess. 

I look up at Carrick, and he's breathing hard, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He looks like he's going to run away, though, if he can loosen that death grip he's got on the door frame. I don't want him to run away. So I say something – probably the worst, stupidest thing I could choose to say.

“Carrick. Stay.”


	33. Greedy

Have you ever heard yourself say something, but it's so absolutely ridiculous and out of character that you have to stop and replay it in your mind just to be sure _you_ were really the one who said it?

As Carrick stares at me, his eyes wide, all I can hear are the words _Carrick. Stay._ repeating over and over in my mind. 

I said it. I really said it. And he hasn't left yet.

Even Taylor is suspended in motion, his hand not moving at all as he too waits to see what Carrick is going to do. After what seems like forever, Carrick gives me the tiniest of nods and pushes the door back together behind him. He's going to stay.

As one, Taylor and I scoot over to allow Carrick room to climb onto the bed with us. The second he's within reach, I've got a hand on his shirt, willing it to just disappear. He takes the hint and begins to lift it over his head. That seems to set things back into motion; Taylor leans down and places a tantalizing kiss to my hip before putting his fingers back to work. When we were paused, I could almost convince myself this wasn't really happening, that hadn't really made such a ridiculous demand of Carrick. But I did, and it really wasn't all that out of character for me, was it? 

Of course I'd want both of them if given the choice. I'm just that greedy.

Now that I have them, I'm not even sure what to _do_ with them. Taylor seems to be holding up his end of things pretty well, though. It's surprising that I can even form a coherent thought with his fingers inside of me, stretching me, pushing my boundaries by the second. I want more–-more of _anything_ -–but I don't know how to ask for it. Instead, I settle for something simple. Something I don't think I have to ask for. I grasp Carrick's shoulders and pull him toward me until our lips meet. It's a surprisingly gentle kiss, given everything else that's happening right now, but I like the contrast. I like the way he cups my face in his hands and the way his stubble just barely tickles my face.

It still isn't enough, though. I still want more. My hands scramble to try to free Carrick from the rest of his clothes and somehow he gets the hint and manages to remove his pants and underwear without disrupting everything else that's going on. Taylor can't have too much attention diverted from himself, I suppose, so his mouth is on me again, working in tandem with his fingers to make me see stars.

I trail my hand down Carrick's chest, but the moment I make contact with his dick is the moment that Taylor stops everything he's doing to me. The sudden loss of sensation is almost more intense than the sensation itself and it leaves me gasping for air as I glance back at Taylor for some understanding of what he thinks he's doing.

He doesn't meet my eyes, though. His are focused on Carrick and completely unreadable anyway. He glances around the room, then back at Carrick, and asks, “Lube?”

Despite the fact that I'm still panting, I actually feel a lot calmer about the direction this is going now that Carrick is here by my side. It should feel strange to let him see me like this, spread out on the bed and absolutely shameless, with someone other than him. It doesn't, though. I need him here, I think, to help me through this first time with Taylor. I can analyze just exactly what that means and how fucked up it makes me later. Right now, I just want to feel.

Carrick motions to the bedside table, but doesn't say a word. Taylor leans over him to reach into the drawer and Carrick draws closer to me. I can't help thinking it's both because he wants to be farther away from Taylor and because he wants to be closer to me. Or because he knows I need him closer. Whatever it is, I like it. I melt into him comfortably as he adjusts our positions so that he's halfway underneath me, practically holding me up. As I settle in, I can feel his dick pressing against my back, and I wish I could help relieve some of that pressure for him, but this position is too perfect to move. He presses a gentle kiss to the back of my neck as Taylor finally finds what he's looking for and returns to his position between my legs.

Even as Carrick continues to sprinkle kisses on my neck, my attention is completely focused on Taylor. He dribbles the lube directly onto his cock, moaning loudly when the first drops make contact with his flesh. He takes his time smoothing it all over, making sure that he's coating from base to tip, and my eyes follow every tiny little movement of his hand. Everything, from Carrick's gentle kisses to Taylor's strokes, seems to be in slow motion right now and I'm enjoying that temporary reprieve as much as I can. It's a type of torture, too, but at least it gives me a chance to breathe before I'm pulled under again.

And then it's over.

Taylor scoots in closer to me, nudging my legs farther apart. They stay tangled with Carrick's even as I comply and let him nudge my knees upward so that I'm bared completely to him. I can feel my cheeks flushing again, but Taylor doesn't seem to notice. His eyes flash to mine for a second before they turn back to his destination. He gives himself one last, slow stroke before closing the distance between our bodies.

When he pushes into me, I swear he's set fire to my body. I'm burning up from the inside out, being completely consumed by Taylor. For a moment, there's nothing but heat and pressure. All of my senses seem to have gone out of focus at the same time. The only thing that brings me back is Carrick gently stroking my hair, whispering something in my ear that might not even be made up of actual words. Slowly but surely, I return to earth, and while the feeling of Taylor inside of me is still intense, it isn't dominating my senses so completely anymore.

I was right. I knew I needed Carrick to get me through this.

As drunk and driven by lust as he is, Taylor still manages to give me a moment to adjust before he really begins. When that moment is up, though, he builds up a torturous pace. I can barely breathe at all with the way he's thrusting into me. Every gasp of air I do manage to let out only seems to be caught by him, giving him more and more energy to keep going. I swear each thrust is just bringing me closer and closer to death.

But Carrick's here. He's holding both of my hands and still whispering in my ear, telling me it's alright. I believe him. I don't trust the dark look in Taylor's eyes, but I believe Carrick. 

I want to say something to him, but I'm pretty sure a “thank you” in the middle of him watching my brother fuck me would be really strange anyway. But he needs to know how much I love having him here. The best I can do is turn my head to the side and kiss his cheek. He takes the hint and turns so that our lips are pressed together. It's not much of a kiss, but I'm too breathless to manage much more.

A hand touches my cheek and it takes me a moment to realize it's Taylor, not Carrick. He's not pulling me away from him, but I can tell from the way his hand just rests against my flesh that that's what he wants. Reluctantly, I pull away and turn back to face Taylor. I can't help wondering if he's jealous, but if he is, I don't see it on his face at all. Still, I can't help think that he's trying to mark his territory when he leans down and kisses me so much less gently than Carrick did.

His lips still taste like beer, but I don't mind. There's a voice in the back of my mind trying to complain about how drunk Taylor is, but it's quickly silenced by how good this all feels. I let go of Carrick's hands so I can reach out and touch Taylor, running my hands up and down his back as we kiss. 

All too soon, the kiss ends. In the silence that follows, with Taylor staring back and forth between me and Carrick, I expect him to say something, anything. What I don't expect him to do is kiss Carrick.

Carrick lets out a little surprised yelp as Taylor grabs his hair and pulls his face forward until their lips collide. He's just as forceful with Carrick as he was with me. Maybe even moreso. And I'm just caught in the middle, watching it happen so closely that I can see the exact moment when Taylor slips his tongue into Carrick's mouth. I have no clue what Tay is trying to prove now. I'm not sure he even knows. Maybe he's just fucking with me – with us – now, just testing his boundaries to see what he can get away with.

I can't even look at either of them once the kiss ends. I shut my eyes tightly and just focus on physical sensation. I don't need to think about emotions right now. I just need to feel. So, naturally, this is the moment when Taylor finally decides to speak.

“Turn around.”

I blink and see that he's looking at me. Not that I really thought he was talking to Carrick, but I had to check. He gives me a look as if to ask what I'm waiting for. Carrick scoots to the side to give me room and Taylor pulls out of me, so I know I can't really debate whether or not I'm going to follow his order. I am. Was there really ever any doubt? I don't think I have any shame left at this point, so I do as Taylor said and turn around, on my hands and knees facing the headboard. I can see Carrick more easily now, leaning awkwardly against the headboard, but I don't want to look at him. Maybe I do have a _little_ bit of shame left.

Taylor doesn't warn me at all before sliding back into me. It doesn't really hurt anymore, but it still takes me by surprise and leaves me gasping and holding onto the sheets. It's not enough, though. This position lets Taylor thrust even more ruthlessly, if that's even possible. My vision blurs again, stars exploding behind my eyes every time he slams into me. 

He slows only a little as he leans over me and stage whispers in my ear, “Suck his cock.”

This has got to be some sick sort of game to Taylor; I'm certain of it now. But what can I do? I'm more powerless to refuse him than ever before. His voice was loud enough for Carrick to hear and I can tell that he's breathing harder now. He wants it, of course, despite whatever awful thoughts I'm sure he's having about Taylor right now. He scoots over so that he's sitting right in front of my face, and I don't bother to say a word to Taylor or even glance back at him. I risk one quick look up at Carrick and I can't read the expression on his face at all.

I take Carrick's dick into my mouth all at once because I figure I might as well show off a little. I'm not sure what I'm trying to prove to Taylor, but I know I'm trying to prove something and so is he. He fucks me harder and harder as I suck Carrick, and I can't help matching my pace to his so that soon enough, we're all moaning in some sick and twisted form of three part harmony.

It seems fitting that I'm quite literally stuck between the two of them now. 

Taylor tugs at my hair, and I think that's supposed to be some sort of signal that he's getting close. His other hand creeps around to finally grasp my cock, even though I'm fairly certain I could have come anyway. The added sensation, his hand stroking me quickly, only pushes me even closer until I can't even focus on one single sensation at all. 

I come first, shooting all over Taylor's hand. He shoves his hand into Carrick's face and I strain to look up and see his reaction. For a moment, I think Carrick is going to deny him, but then he takes hold of Taylor's wrist and laps up every drop of my come that's covering his fingers. He's still lapping at Taylor's fingers when I feel him come, his hips bucking up as he does. If I wanted to pull away-–I didn't-–Carrick didn't give me a chance at all, and I swallow every drop he has to offer.

At no point does Taylor cease his thrusts. If anything, he only speeds up after Carrick and I come. He's absolutely relentless, his hand still gripping my hair as he pounds into me. I've pretty much lost the will to do anything but lay my head on Carrick's thigh and try to remember how to breathe. I can't even muster up any sort of reaction when I feel come inside of me, still gripping my hair and filling me with this strange warmth. 

He thrusts a few more times, softly now, before pulling out. He barely has to nudge my shoulder at all to roll me over and then lift me like a bag of bones. He presses a quick but forceful kiss to my lips and then he's up, dressing himself like nothing strange at all has happened here.

Mere seconds later he's out the door, and it feels like he might as well have not even been here at all. 

I collapse back onto the mattress and Carrick fumbles around in the floor for a moment before handing me some old t-shirt to clean myself up with. I barely even have the energy to try, but I do the best I can. My shame finally returns to me, a deep blush creeping across my cheeks as I try to make myself less of a sticky mess. Carrick isn't looking, though. His back is turned to me as he pulls on a pair of boxer briefs. I can't decide if I want to see his face or not.

When he climbs back onto the bed, I don't meet his eyes at all, instead choosing to focus on a point just over his shoulder. He hands my boxers to me and I pull them on without looking at him at all. I don't have the energy to bother with any more clothes than that, so I just roll onto my stomach and shove my face into the pillow.

“Hey,” Carrick says softly, running a hand through my hair.

“What?”

“It's alright,” he says. “It's gonna be alright.”

I don't know what he's referring to, but I'm pretty sure that right now, it's anything but alright. How can anything ever be right or normal again after that? That wasn't how this was supposed to happen. My first time with Taylor wasn't supposed to be like that. 

A part of me wants to run after Taylor and scream at him for ruining everything, but right now, curling up next to Carrick and just falling asleep sounds even more appealing. So that's exactly what I do.


	34. Criminal

I wake up to the comforting feeling of arms wrapped around me, and I know in an instant that the arms belong to Carrick. It seems like lately I've woken up in his bed so many times that I don't even question it anymore. Except that isn't really true. I've spent more time with Taylor for the past week, but I had a good reason for that. Carrick understood, I thought, but now just the thought of how I've abandoned him makes this awful knot form in my stomach.

There's a good chance that what we did last night has a little to do with that awful feeling bubbling up inside of me, though. Or more than a little.

I wiggle around so that I'm facing Carrick and somehow I don't wake him up in the process. That's good. I kind of want a moment without his judgment, because I'm sure it's coming as soon as he wakes up. But for now, he's just laying there, looking perfectly content. I've never really noticed the way his brow furrows when he sleeps. Maybe it doesn't always do that, but right now it is, and it's adorable. 

He really is beautiful.

It's not the first time I've realized that, and it's not the first time I've looked at him and just felt _love_. But right now, that love is accompanied by another feeling-–one that I don't like as much. 

Regret. Guilt. Shame.

I should never have asked him to stay last night. Carrick didn't need to see that, and he certainly didn't need to be a part of it. I needed him, but I'm not so sure that my needs trump his. If I truly loved him, I wouldn't even have to question it, would I? I would just want to do what was right for him. I would realize when I was being selfish, and I would care enough to change it. The fact that I feel guilty about it now, when it's too late to take it back, hardly matters.

I wonder why he even puts up with me. He deserves so much better than what I've given him. The more I think about it all, the more it makes me sick. As quietly and carefully as I can, I extricate myself from his grip and crawl off the end of the bed. It's awkward, but it's the easiest way to escape without disturbing him. 

_Escape_. As though I were a criminal or something.

In a way, I definitely feel like one. And not just because I'm trying to sneak out, but because I know I _have_ done something wrong. I know he'll never tell me, but I had to have hurt Carrick. How could last night have done anything else? And while Taylor might have been the one to pour salt in it, I'm definitely the one who opened the wound to begin with. I want to blame Taylor for all my problems, but the truth is, I'm at center of them. 

I'm the problem.

If he hasn't figured that out yet, he's surely going to figure it out soon. Maybe I can save him the trouble. Maybe I can just leave. I don't know why I'm still lingering, standing over the bed staring at him like some kind of creeper. He really is beautiful, particularly so when he's asleep, and that's doing nothing at all for the creeper thing or the leaving thing. It's so hard to peel myself away from him, though, even when I know it's for the best.

My eyes barely leave him even as I try to put my scattered clothes back on. Somehow, I manage to get dressed in my jeans and t-shirt without waking Carrick up, and I'm so thankful for that. I don't know what I would even say to him if he did wake up now. I don't know how to explain to him why I'm leaving, why I know leaving is what I _have_ to do. For the moment, at least, I'm spared having to come up with any sort of explanation for him.

I slip out of his bedroom as quietly as I possibly can, forcing myself to focus straight ahead and not look back at him. Even one more glance at Carrick, still curled up in the bed even though there's no one there for him to hold, would stop me in my tracks. I know it would. So I just keep walking right on down the stairs, letting out a sigh of relief as I discover that my cell phone and keys are somehow still in the pocket of my jeans.

By the time I reach at the bottom of the stairs, I'm feeling pretty good about my chances of making a clean getaway. So naturally, that's also the moment that I realize I'm not alone. A sudden noise from my left makes me jump, and it takes me a moment to realize it's their coffee machine. I can only hope there's no one in the kitchen with it, but I doubt my luck is really that good. Sure enough, the floorboard creaks under someone's footsteps and a few seconds later, Austin is in the doorway.

“Hey, didn't realize you were still here,” he says.

“Umm,” I say, because I really have no clue how to respond and my voice barely feels like putting in an appearance anyway. Even that little sound comes out as hardly more than a frog-like croak. “Yeah, umm... I kinda crashed in Carrick's room.”

It's not like it's the first time I've spent the night here, and I know Austin knows that, but it still feels strange to admit that I slept in Carrick's bed. Austin doesn't need to know that isn't all I did in Carrick's bed last night. From the look on his face, though, I get the feeling that he does know _something_. What he thinks happened and what actually happened might not be the same thing, but they're probably close enough. Either way, I really hope this conversation ends soon so that I can leave.

“Is he awake yet?” Austin asks.

“Umm, I don't think so.”

“I am now,” Carrick says from behind me and it makes me jump. 

I don't know how long he's been there, but there he is on the bottom step, looking... dazed. I don't know any other words to accurately describe the look on Carrick's face.

“I should... umm, I was just leaving,” I manage to stutter out, trying my best not to meet Carrick's eyes. If I did, I don't think I could leave.

Without a word, Carrick follows me as I walk through the house to the back alley where I parked the night before. I don't have to turn around to know he's there. I can feel him behind me, his shadow over me like he's trying to protect me or something. Usually I would like the way it feels to have him as my bodyguard, but right now I just feel like I don't deserve it.

As soon as my hand touches the doorknob, Carrick grabs my arm. I'm not really surprised, but I can't help letting out a sigh. Why can't he just let me go? Why does he have to fight me on this when I'm doing it for his own good?

“Zac,” he says. “You don't have to run.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” I reply, trying to hold my ground and not let him turn me around to face him, no matter how hard he tugs on my arm.

He sighs. “Look, I know last night was... fucked up, but it doesn't have to be a big deal, okay? We can... I don't know, we can get through this, right?”

It almost seems like he's asking me if we can, like he doesn't even believe it himself, but maybe if he says it, that will make it true. It doesn't, though. How could it? How could we possibly get through this like nothing at all happened last night? What Taylor and I did _changes_ things, and the fact that Carrick watched-–that I _made_ him watch-–only makes it worse. This can't go on like it has been, like nothing big and awful is happening.

“I can't do this.”

At first, I don't even realize I've said it out loud, but Carrick lets go of my arm and backs away so that I can no longer feel his body near mine. It wasn't the comfort it had been before, anyway. 

“I'm sorry...” I add, and I wish I could find the words to explain everything that I'm sorry for and why it has to be this way, but I can't. I can't even _look_ at him right now. “I just... I can't. This isn't right.”

That's not what I wanted to say, but those seem to be the only words I can force out of my mouth.

“Yeah,” Carrick replies, and I swear he sounds choked up, but I refuse to look at him and see for certain just how this is affecting him. “I'm sorry too.”

And that's it. I can feel him walking away and hear his feet shuffling against the carpet. He isn't even trying to fight me now. I guess he does understand. It's better this way, really, if he understands that it can't work and he doesn't hang on forever only to end up with his heart broken or something.

I don't look back at all as I walk out the door and get into my truck. I don't know if Carrick's there watching me and I don't care to know. It will only make this harder. I don't look back at the door as I maneuver my truck out of the alley and onto the street. Once I'm around the corner and out of sight of his house, I let out a huge sigh.

I'm free. 

And more than that, I've set Carrick free.

Even though I know it was the right thing to do, I still don't like the way it feels. I turn the radio up loud, loud enough to hurt my ears, to drown out these feelings. It doesn't help much, but the fact that it hurts a little seems appropriate. I don't mind punishing myself right now; I almost feel like I _deserve_ it.

When I pull into my driveway, I'm not exactly surprised to see that Kate's car is missing. I haven't heard from her in a few days, but it's Sunday morning, so even if she hadn't been with Natalie, chances are she would have been at church. For a split second, I wish I was there, too. Not to be with Kate, but because god knows I could use some kind of guidance right now. The thought passes quickly; I don't think there's any church in the world that would have anything good to say to me right now. 

I'm not sure _anyone_ in the world could possibly offer me any advice right now.

The house is quiet and empty, as though no one lives in it at all. Lately it feels like I'm barely even existing at all, and I guess this abandoned house feeling is a reflection of that. The only signs of life at all are a few dirty dishes in the sink and the blinking light on the answering machine.

Well, that's different. No one but Kate -–and that one time, Taylor-–ever calls our house phone.

I push the playback button and walk to the refrigerator for a soda while I wait for the machine to play whatever message it seems to have. After the machine's robotic voice finishes talking, Kate's fills the air.

“Zac, hey... umm, I guess you're probably still asleep or something. I hope you get this in time. I was just thinking of stopping by after church. You and I... well, we've got a lot to talk about, I think. So I guess I'll see you later. Bye.”

By the end of the message, my hand is shaking so hard that I can barely grip the soda can I've reached for. I can only guess what she might want to talk about, but none of the possibilities that spring to mind are good.


	35. Talk

I'm not a breakfast person at the best of times, and it's already getting closer to lunch. With Kate on her way here to talk, I'm not sure I can stand to eat anything at all, but I suppose I should try. After finally managing to get a grip on that can of soda, I rummage around in the cabinets until I find a box of poptarts. I'm sure Kate won't be impressed if she sees me eating something so processed and sugary, but I'm really past the point of caring what she thinks of me.

That sounds a lot worse than I mean, but it doesn't make it any less true.

Whatever she has to say to me now, I'm sure it can't be good at all. But I've done so many things that she would hate me for if she knew about that I can't really be bothered to care about all the bad things she _does_ know about. In comparison, they don't even come close. 

I settle onto the couch with my poptarts and Dr. Pepper, hoping that I don't have to wait long for Kate to show up. The longer I have to wait for her, the longer I have to think and make myself even more anxious about whatever it is she wants to talk to me about. I take a shower more to distract myself than to wash the smell of sex off my body, and I'm just getting dressed and pulling my hair back into a ponytail when I hear the tell-tale sound of tires crunching on gravel. Finally.

Deciding that it's a decent show of goodwill toward her, I make my way to the door and open it. I watch as she helps Shepherd and Junia out of the car, knowing that I should probably go and help her, but I feel rooted on the spot. With everything that's happening in my life lately, I've barely thought about how all of it could affect me kids. I know that's horrible of me, and it's that guilt that keeps me stock still in the door frame, unable to even muster up the courage to go help Kate unbuckle their car seats. 

If I didn't already feel like a horrible person, I really do know. I didn't think I could sink much lower, but I guess I was wrong.

A moment later, I'm holding the door open for her. It seems to take all the energy I've got so that I can barely even manage to say hello to the kids before they're rushing off to their rooms to play. Kate barely acknowledges me at first, either, but I guess I deserve that. I deserve a lot worse than that, in fact. And I'm sure that before long, I'll get it.

I follow a safe distance behind Kate as she sets down her bags and makes her way to the kitchen. To be extra safe, I lean against the wall well out of her reach, as she pours herself a glass of water. I don't know how long she's going to ignore me, and I don't like it. I can't stand the suspense. I know whatever we're going to talk about isn't good, and I would really like to just get it over with.

Finally, she sets the glass down on the counter and looks at me.

“We really need to talk.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “You said that already. In your message.”

She nods. “I've done a lot of thinking, you know. While I was with Natalie.”

I don't like the sound of that. I've never liked the two of them together. Kate was always the more reasonable, mature one, but Natalie can be a horrible influence on her. When they get together and start talking, nothing good can come of it.

“I've been thinking... maybe we really should call it quits, Zac.”

I know I should have expected that, but somehow, I didn't. It hits me like an actual punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of me.

“Q-quits?” I repeat. 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding slightly like she's still trying to completely convince herself. “It's just... I mean, we're so different. And we always have been, but the last month or so it's becoming so much more obvious and I just don't know we can possibly find any middle ground again.”

It's well thought out and reasonable, so I can't really be angry with her. Even if it did surprise me to hear it right now, I knew this day was coming. I knew this couldn't go on forever like it was supposed to.

“Are you going to say anything at all?” She asks.

“It sounds like you've already made up your mind,” I reply. 

“But if... if you really wanted to try to work it out... maybe we could.”

There it is. I knew she wasn't as resolute as she was trying to sound. As much as I want to soothe her worries, I just don't see how we could work it out. She's right. We're too different. I shake my head, and sigh. “No... I don't think we really could.”

Kate nods softly again. “Right... I guess you're right. I just wish it could be different.”

“I wish it could be different, too.”

It isn't a lie, but I have a feeling her idea of _different_ and mine are, well, really different. I'm barely sure what I want at all right now, but it's becoming increasingly obvious that being married, especially to someone like Kate, isn't it. She's just one of many people I'm hurting, but maybe if I get away from her, I can stop it. Maybe away from me, she can find some happiness.

“Right,” Kate says. “Well, I guess... I guess I'll have to figure out somewhere to stay. I can't stay with Pam and Natalie forever. When you guys get back from that festival, we can start figuring everything out.”

I nod. As uncertain as she sounded, it's clear she has put a lot of thought into this. Once Kate makes her mind up about something, it can't be changed. And now that she knows this is going to happen, she seems to already have it planned out in detail. She's not going to waste any time getting out of my life, I'm sure. Or getting me out of hers. I'm not really sure which way she sees it.

“You can go play with the kids,” Kate says. “I told them we would be here for a while today. I'm going to call Natalie, though, and check on her.”

For a moment, I consider calling her out on the fact that she just gave me permission to play with my own children, but I decide better of it. What good could come of picking a fight with her now? All the things considered, this has been pretty amicable for the beginning of a divorce.

The cynical little voice in my mind says that it can't possible stay that way.

I try to let that cynicism go and just enjoy a few hours of mindless play with Shepherd and Junia, but it doesn't work. I know they can tell my heart isn't really in any of the games they want to play, but I keep trying anyway, because I don't know when I'll get to see them again. Who knows how much I'll even be _allowed_ to see them after the divorce.

That particular line of thought does nothing for my cynicism.

By the time Kate comes in and tells the kids to get ready to leave, I'm just this side of curling up in the fetal position and crying. If she notices how upset I am, she doesn't feel the need to comment on it. Her own emotions are impossible for me to read behind the blank stare she's perfected. I can't help thinking this would be easier for me if I could watch her fall apart, too. But it seems I'm the only person falling apart.

Except for Taylor.

He wouldn't really let it show, but I know the miscarriage and Natalie leaving have taken a huge toll on him. When I'm this close to falling apart myself, he's the first person that springs to mind. He may not have offered me any comfort lately, he may even be part of what's causing me all this pain, but I can't help thinking of him now. He's the one person who might understand, just a little bit, what I'm going through.

Once Kate and the kids are gone, I make up my mind that I'm going to go see Taylor. I wonder if he's already heard the news through the Hanson grapevine. That's a good enough excuse as any to go see him, I decide – to see if he's heard, and if not, to let him hear it from me first. 

I know I look like hell-–I'm surprised Kate didn't comment on it-–but I'm so far past caring about impressing Taylor that I do little more than run a brush through my still damp hair before leaving the house. The drive to his house passes quickly; I'm so determined to be near him that it's all I can think about and I barely even notice the streets and houses that I pass by. I arrive at his door like I transported there, with absolutely no memory of the trip that brought me to it.

Taylor answers the door looking harried and holding a dish towel, and that's when I remember that he still has all four kids with him. I suddenly feel stupid for intruding when he's obviously too busy to deal with my problems. My voice and resolution leave me completely, and I end up just standing on his doorstep, rocking back and forth on my heels.

“Yeah?” Taylor finally says.

“I umm... well, I just... umm, Kate and I are getting a divorce.”

Taylor blinks. He doesn't really look surprised, but I'm so bad at reading his emotions that I'm not sure what he _does_ look.

“Oh,” he says. “You, umm, you wanna come in?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I reply, squeezing past him as he steps only a little bit to the side to let me pass.

When the hell did Taylor and I get this awkward? This isn't how things should be the morning after our first time together, but then, our first time shouldn't have been the way it was. I'm not even sure which of us to blame for that now. Taylor was drunk, after all, and I was just a fuckup as usual. Maybe we're both to blame, but it feels like it was mostly me.

Taylor escorts me into the kitchen and hands me a beer without even asking if I wanted one. I should probably be worried about this new tendency of his to drink in the middle of the day, but right now, I need that beer too much to criticize him for it. I take a few long drinks of it, wondering if Taylor is just going to get me drunk and not even speak to me. Finally, he sighs and looks me up and down, as if he's considering his words carefully.

“Look, Zac... last night was...” He sighs again and shakes his head. “It was just kind of crazy.”

I want to ask him if he meant good crazy or bad crazy, but I'm afraid of what his answer might be.

He shakes his head again and almost smiles. “Nevermind. It was just... whatever it was.”

“Yeah,” I manage to choke out. “Whatever it was.”

“Maybe this is for the best,” he says and I must make a really strange face, because he quickly adds, “I mean, you and Kate Maybe it's for the best that you guys are getting divorced.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Taylor reaches out a hand, at first just touching my arm gently, but seconds later, he pulls me into an awkward hug. I nearly spill my beer on the two of us, all balance and poise leaving me as we embrace. Taylor sighs into my hair and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

“You're gonna be okay,” he says.

I want to believe him. I really do. But I can't help the nagging feeling that something about all of this definitely isn't okay. Even hugging him right now doesn't feel right. I wonder if he can feel it too. I try to let myself relax into it, though, to enjoy finally being with Taylor. It's what I've always wanted, isn't it?


	36. Friendly Skies

Until Kate mentioned it, I had completely forgotten that we were going out of town just a few days later to play some festival in Wisconsin. It had been scheduled before everything happened with Natalie and Taylor, and I know there's no way we could drop out of it now. Whether he's ready or not, Taylor has to go and face the public again.

Kate took the kids to stay with her, which I supposed was a good thing in two ways; it meant that Natalie might have been recovering a little bit if she could stand to be around anyone's children again, and it also meant that I didn't have to wake them up early and shuttle them off to my parents' house before our stupidly early flight to Milwaukee. The latter was a big relief, and the former worried me a little. I'd spent as much time as possible with Taylor for the last few days, and he hadn't mentioned anything about Natalie's condition. I wanted to ask, but I was afraid I didn't really want to know the answer.

It's only a three day trip, even when you add in the time spent flying, so I don't have a lot of packing to do. All of our musical equipment, which is being packed by the crew, comprises the biggest part of our luggage. We got together at the studio two days ago to hash out a rough setlist and figure out what needed to be packed for those songs. Knowing us, though, it'll change approximately five minutes before the set begins. Either way, all of those details are already taken care of the best that they can be. All I have to do is bring clothes and soap. Maybe a few other things, but that's the gist of it. I'm a simple man like that.

And since I have so little to pack, I leave it all until the morning we're set to leave. I couldn't sleep last night, anyway, so I spent most of the night shuffling between the couch watching late night television, the laundry room washing the clothes I was taking with me and the kitchen for more soda. I managed to get just an hour or two of sleep in right before my alarm went off, and then I'm up shoving wrinkled but clean clothes into a suitcase. 

I don't know why, but I keep wanting to delay this. Something about leaving this time feels wrong to me, but I know I don't really have a choice. I can't back out of the concert now. Once I've taken as long as I possibly can to pack everything, I head outside to meet the cab that our ever so thoughtful manager already called for me, knowing I'd never remember a detail like that on my own. At the crack of dawn-–literally-–there's no traffic, so it isn't a long drive to the airport. I wish it was longer. 

The cab deposits me right in the front of the airport's main doors. It's not a big place, so I'm not surprised that as soon as I step onto the sidewalk with my suitcase, I see Isaac and Taylor. I am a little surprised, though, to see all four of Taylor's kids trailing behind him. I don't recall any plans to bring them along on this trip, and it seems a little inhumane to wake them up so early, so I really have no clue what's going on.

Before I can get out a single word to ask what's happening, I see Natalie walking up, which only confuses me even more-–and makes my blood boil just a little. 

Okay, a lot.

“Are we having a fucking family reunion at 6am?” I mumble to no one but myself.

Isaac raises an eyebrow, then just shrugs. He seems more in the dark than I am, and I'm okay with that as long as he doesn't start asking questions too. I'm sure he knows about everything that has happened with Natalie, but I'm fairly certain he has no clue about my involvement in Taylor's drama. I'd really prefer to keep it that way.

“Fuck this,” I mumble even more quietly, then loudly, I add, “I'm going inside.”

Isaac just nods, and Taylor doesn't seem to notice at all, too busy bending down to say something to Penny. It's kind of cute, but the rest of the whole show makes me feel sick to my stomach, so I turn and walk into the airport before I get even more upset. 

I check myself in, because I might as well get that over with, then make my way to the coffee shop. It isn't Starbucks, and I don't even like coffee, but right now, I really don't care. There are ulterior motives at play here. Whenever Taylor finally peels himself away from his wife and kids, I know this will be his first stop. This might be my only chance of getting him relatively alone today and talking to him. It's not exactly backing him into a corner, but it'll have to do.

I order some double chocolate something, because I figure that will be the most palatable for me. It still tastes like chocolate covered crap, but I force myself to suck it down anyway. It seems fitting; I'm not sure that I really deserve anything enjoyable or fulfilling. What I have I done lately to earn any sort of happiness? Not a damn thing, that's what.

I've barely drank a fourth of this foul stuff when Taylor finally walks up. He doesn't even seems to notice me at all while he places his order, but finally, with a steaming latte in hand, he wanders my way and leans against the counter.

“I thought you didn't drink coffee.”

“I don't.”

“Oh.”

What can I say? We're not morning people.

“It'll be good to play again, I think,” Tay says with a smile on his face that looks far too genuine for this early.

“Yeah, I think it will.”

We haven't actually played a concert since the Hanson day shindig, and that was before Carrick and Austin arrived. Almost two months. Somehow, it doesn't seem like it's even possible that much time has passed, but I know it has. At the same time, it all seems like a neverending nightmare. It's funny how time go can so quickly and so slowly at the same time, isn't it?

That appears to be the most small talk either of us is going to attempt. Now we're both just staring into our drinks silently. I guess I'll have to be the first one to talk again. Might as well take the plunge and ask the question that's burning a hole in my mind.

“So, umm, why are all the kids here? A-and... and Nat?”

“Oh,” Taylor says, glancing up and blinking. “Well, I was going to drop them off last night, but they insisted-–all of them, in agreement for like the first time ever-–that they wanted to say goodbye to me _at_ the airport, not before I left.”

He conveniently left someone out of that answer, but I don't quite have the courage to call him on it.

“And... well, Nat and I talked about it, and she's feeling up to keeping them for a while.”

“Oh.” Suddenly I have even less desire than before to finish drinking this chocolate crap.

“I figured Kate would have told you.”

“At which point, before or after she asked for a divorce?” It's too early not to be a sarcastic bastard; I'm not even going to try.

Taylor blinks. “Oh. Right... sorry.”

I don't know if he's purposely being stupid or if it's just because it's so early. I don't think I have the patience to keep talking to him about all of this. Luckily, Isaac walks up right then and informs us that it's time to leave if we want to actually make our flight. Ike to the rescue, I suppose.

I toss the chocolate thing in the nearest trash can and try to ignore Taylor to the best of my abilities. It isn't really that difficult. We're making the switch into band mode now, not brother mode. Business mode. It's time to get shit done, and shit, in this case, happens to be getting on the right plane with all of our belongings. For us, that can be pretty complicated, but we're not taking many people on this trip. In fact it's only us and Bex leaving from Tulsa; the rest of the band and crew are flying in from the various places they all live. It shouldn't be difficult to get myself on the plane, but my mind doesn't want to focus right now. It has other things to occupy itself with.

Namely, the fact that Taylor is apparently on speaking terms with his wife again.

I know I have no right to be jealous. It would be different if he and I had done anything other than one childish kiss before he met her. She didn't steal him from me; objectively, I know that. But more subjectively, I can't help feeling like she stole him from _everyone_. I know they were in it together, they both fucked up, but there were real moments of happiness in amongst all the bullshit he went through before she got pregnant. I haven't seen him that happy since he was officially tethered to her for the rest of his life. 

It might have been both of their actions that ruined his life-–I'll never be able to see it any other way-–but I can't help blaming her so much more than I do him.

So no, I _don't_ have any right to be jealous, even if I have been spending a lot of... quality time, shall we say, with him lately. But I still am. I can't stop it, and the longer I think about her being back in his life, the more it upsets me.

I wonder how long they've been talking again. I wonder why he didn't tell me. She's only taking the kids while we're gone. I have to reassure myself of that. Surely she's not moving back in. Something as big as that... I'd like to think Taylor would tell me.

It's possible that I put more trust in him than I should. But despite everything else, he's my _brother_. My big brother. Who else can I trust if I can't trust him?

I shuffle my way onto the plane, barely even aware of where I am or where I'm going. I only snap back to my senses when I notice that Taylor's staring at me.

“Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted to sit next to me.”

Did he _really_ need to ask?

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic about it.

I don't even know how my mood can swing so quickly, but it has. I guess the only answer is that it's because of Taylor. Isn't everything?

He gives me the window seat, even though I know it's his favorite. With his newfound photography obsession, he's taken pictures of nearly every take off and landing for the last two years. But he's giving up today's... for me. I don't know what to make of that, except to give him a genuine smile as I settle into my seat and he eases into the one right next to me.

Soon, we're in the air. I watch Tulsa fade away into nothing more than a big green grid, still covered in an early morning haze. After everything that's happened recently, it feels good to leave. It feels good to know I have just a few days away with the music, and with Taylor. As Tulsa grows smaller and smaller, the weirdness that's taken me over for the last few months seems to vanish as well. 

I feel like me again. 

I glance over at Tay and he gives me a genuine smile. Maybe he feels like himself again, too, if he even knows who that is anymore. Maybe this trip is what he needs to remember.


	37. Hot Dogs

I'll never get tired of festivals. I guess I'm a little kid like that, but I just can't get enough of the whole fair experience. We've always played them, from dinky little county fairs when we were still trying to make it to these huge music festivals, and I love them all. It's like falling into a world of simple pleasures; music, food, games–-what more could a guy ask for? Okay, I can think of one or two things, but I'm hoping those will come later. I've got Taylor here with me, after all.

I know I'm probably being a little bit presumptuous, but I _know_ Taylor seems happier now. The second we stepped off the airplane, he seemed to relax. It was like he'd been holding in this awful breath for weeks and he was finally able to exhale. I can only hope that's a good sign for me. 

We all agreed to come to the festival a day early, since I guess I'm not the only one who loves these sort of events. Because of that, we get a few hours rest in our hotel before heading to the fairground. Even though the flight wasn't long at all, it seems we've all made this unspoken agreement that we need a little afternoon nap before facing the crowds. Taylor and I are sharing a room, and it takes all of my self control to keep from climbing into bed with him. Instead, I end up just laying awake in mine and watching him sleep, sunlight pouring in the window and making him seem to glow. It doesn't even mater that I'm exhausted; watching Taylor refreshes me enough that I don't even mind missing out on a nap.

How pathetic am I? That's a rhetorical question.

At some point not long after noon, he stumbles out of bed, barely even noticing my unwavering stare, and mumbles something about lunch as he pads to the bathroom. I can't help but giggle a little; I'm pretty sure the two major motivating factors in Taylor's life are food and music. He would probably add his children to that list, and I suppose that's fair. But at this point, after a long day of flying and airline food, it's no surprise that his first waking thought seems to be about his next meal.

I have to admit, I'm pretty hungry, too. My stomach growls, as if on cue, reminding me that as much as I'd like to try, I really can't survive on Taylor alone. 

In the hopes of not looking like I'm just waiting for him, I grab my cell phone from the bedside table and mindlessly flip through my photos while I wait for Taylor to finish in the bathroom. The most recent photos are a few I snapped of Carrick at the studio a few days ago; I had forgotten about them, but now I remember that day in perfect detail. It wasn't anything special, but there was just something fun and carefree about that day. I'm sure there's a certain symbolism in the fact that most of my best shots are of his hands and his lips. 

“You ready to go?” Taylor asks, and I nearly jump off the bed. How long has he been standing there watching me look at pictures of Carrick? I'm not going to ask.

“Umm,” I manage to squeak out, glancing down at my wrinkled clothes that I haven't changed since Tulsa this morning. Not that Taylor has changed his clothes, either. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Taylor offers me a hand and I accept it all too quickly. As soon as I'm on my feet, he lets my hand fall away. I guess I should have expected that; it's not like my brother is going to go walking through the hotel holding my hand. That would just be silly. So why do I feel so disappointed now?

I try to let that disappoint go with a shake of my head, playing it off like I'm trying to fix my hair after laying in bed for so long. Taylor chuckles softly and runs his hand through my hair, a sure sign that my attempt to “fix” it just made it worse. But that's okay, because it also made him feel the need to touch it-–to touch _me_.

Like the hand holding, the moment passes quickly.

I follow Taylor like a lost little puppy dog through the hotel corridor. I'm absolutely shameless and I know it, but it seems like no one – not even Taylor – has noticed. In the lobby, we pass by Isaac and Demetrius and Taylor tells them we're heading over to the festival. They're debating which concert they want to watch that night and I'm too caught up in Taylor to even pay attention to what they're saying. I wonder if I'm going to spend the entire afternoon like this, just caught up in a daze and unable to focus on anything but Taylor. There are worse ways to spend a day.

Our hotel is probably close enough to the festival to walk, but Taylor's nothing if not lazy, so he hails a cab. That's fine by me; I'm not exactly one for walking more than I have to either, and sitting in a cab is a perfect time to get just a little bit too closer to him. I scoot across the hot leather seat, just close enough that our legs are touching. It's not much, but that little reminder that I'm here with Taylor is just enough. All too soon, though, the cab ride is over and we're standing by the main entrance to Summerfest.

Since it's a music festival and not a state fair or anything like that, there aren't any of the sort of rides and games I'd been hoping for. There are, however, plenty of booths full of all sorts of tacky clothing and things for Taylor to enjoy. And since I enjoy seeing him happy, I don't really mind at all just tagging along while he takes his sweet time admiring every single thing for sale in every single booth. He ends up buying a couple shirts, a scarf or two and three new pairs of sunglasses – one of which he insists is for me even though I'm positive they looked better on him. 

“I'm hungry,” he finally exclaims, hours after I'd expected him to die of hunger. Like I said, food and music are his two motivating factors.

“I'm surprised you haven't keeled over out of starvation by now,” I say with a smirk, ducking out of Taylor's reach as he swats an arm at me. Luckily he's loaded down with shopping bags so his aim isn't very good. He didn't try that hard, anyway.

I expect some sort of smartass comment to follow, but it doesn't come. Taylor's already found something else that's caught his interest. He rushes away from me, toward some food vendor, and I struggle to catch up with him and see just what has him so excited.

Foot long hot dogs. Why am I not surprised?

I'm fairly certain Taylor has eaten a foot long at every single festival or fair we've _ever_ played, and they're a staple any time he barbecues. And yes, all the obvious jokes have already been made. But I still can't help giggling every time I watch him bite into one. It's either giggle or moan, and I figure the giggling is more socially acceptable.

“What do you want on yours?” He asks, turning away from the vendor to face me.

I shrug. “Just mustard, I guess.”

He orders his with everything and a beer for each of us before I can tell him I'd really rather have a soda. Beer in the afternoon just seems sinful. But most things I do these days are, I suppose. 

Taylor is, surprisingly, able to eat and walk at the same time, so that's what we do. It's a relief, really, because it forces me to keep looking ahead, rather than just staring at Taylor's mouth, wide open to swallow the hot dog that I'm totally not pretending is my cock. Okay, maybe the thought crossed my mind. Once or twice. Or so often that I have to just turn my head and stuff my own hot dog down my throat to keep myself from moaning or saying something really sexual.

“Oh, a photobooth!” 

Is Taylor just completely ADD today? I hadn't even noticed that he'd finished his hot dog, but apparently he has. He chugs the rest of his beer and tosses the cup into a nearby garbage can, and I do the same. Then he's off like a shot, rushing to the photobooth. I just shake my head and follow him. I really am glad that he's so happy today, but it's a little strange to see when I've gotten so used to the sad, mopey Taylor.

I definitely prefer this Taylor, though. In fact, he kind of turns me on, and it's not like anyone else seems to have even noticed that this photobooth exists...

I slide into the booth next to him, sitting just a little too close like I did in the cab. I just can't help myself. While Taylor fiddles with the buttons, I run my hand up and down his thigh, trying to get some kind of reaction from him. And I get exactly the reaction I want – an obvious erection pressing against his jeans that I can't help cupping in my hand.

“Okay,” Taylor squeaks out, his eyes darting to mine for just a second. “Umm, it's gonna take like five pics in just a few seconds, so... smile.”

“Yeah, okay,” I reply, not moving my hand-–at least, not _removing_ it from Taylor's cock. 

I'm horrible, I know. We're in public. But no one else was lining up for photos, or even seeming to notice that the photobooth existed. I think we're totally safe. Which is why I can't resist taking things a little further.

“Hey, Tay.”

Instead of replying with words, he turns his head to face me, raising an eyebrow just as the camera flashes the first time. I grab his face and kiss him hard, our lips still fused together when the camera flashes again. I'm pretty sure the camera doesn't reach low enough to capture the way Taylor's thrusting up into my hand now, and it probably won't really show how hard he's breathing-–practically panting, really-–in between kisses. 

The camera flashes for the fifth time, but I'm not done yet. I reach into my pocket and pull out a few bills, shoving them all into the slot and stabbing at a few buttons without really paying attention to what I'm doing. As long as it buys me a little more time in here with Taylor.

“Zac, what...” he trails off as I kiss my way down his neck, but he doesn't really try to stop me.

At least, not until I reach for the button on his jeans.

“You do realize we're in public?”

I shrug. “Yeah, so? It'll be fine...”

He stares at me for a moment, and I really start to worry that he's going to push me away and tell me that we really can't do anything here. But he doesn't. He just sighs and leans back a little, which is as good as actually giving me permission to continue. It's not a ringing endorsement, but I'll take it.

I wiggle my way down to the photobooth's floor. There isn't a lot of room, and I'm not really small enough for something like this, but I'm determined to make it work. Taylor wraps his legs tightly around my body as I work him free of his underwear, and I don't even have words to describe how much it turns me on, but I've already decided this moment is about him, not me. As soon as I get his cock out of his boxers, I dive down and take him into my mouth all at once. His head falls back against the wall behind him with such a loud crack that I'm actually worried he's hurt himself, but the moan that follows doesn't really sound _injured_...

Taylor trembles underneath me, and I guess it's a combination of arousal and fear that we're going to get caught. Somehow, that fear only turns me on more and makes me work even harder to please him. I know without a doubt that I'm better at this than the last time I did it to him. 

And just like that, I'm once again comparing Taylor and Carrick. I really wish I could quit doing that.

I dig my fingers into his jeans, certain that the rough denim hurts me more than my fingers hurt him. That little bit of pain distracts me from my thoughts and brings me back down to the task at hand. Taylor's still trembling beneath me, and I double my speed just to see how much harder I can make him shake. His moans, obviously softened in case we have an audience, still seem to echo through my body, and I know he's close already.

He doesn't give me any verbal warning before he comes, but I notice the way his body tenses and that little hitch in his breathing. It's absolutely beautiful, just like everything else about him, and it's all the warning I need. I hold on tighter to his thighs as he comes, practically getting off myself on the feeling and taste of it seeping down my throat. I'm aware that it probably isn't normal to enjoy swallowing so much, but when I'm with Taylor, it's pretty much a given that I'm going to enjoy _anything_ that happens.

Once I've swallowed every drop, I pull myself back up to the photobooth's little bench while Taylor tucks himself into his jeans. Several strips of photos are waiting for us and I snap them up quickly. It's like a slow motion porn, really. The last few strips are just Taylor's upper body, his head thrown back and mouth hanging slightly open. I've seen photos of him onstage that look similar, but it's even better now, knowing that I'm the cause. I shove all the pictures in my pocket before Taylor even have a chance to see them.

“You are _insane_ , Zac,” he says, but his tone is mostly teasing.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I suppose not,” he replies, shaking his head. “You just... surprise me sometimes. Like I don't even know you at all.”

I bite my lip to keep from telling him that he's even more of an enigma than I am. The truth is, sometimes I know myself even less than I know him, and I _never_ have any clue what's going on in his mind. Someday soon I'll get up the nerve to ask. But I don't know if I'll ever really figure myself out.

“Come on,” Taylor says, his eyes sparkling again like those heavier thoughts have passed him by. “Let's go get another beer. And maybe some nachos.”

And just like that, his smile has pushed aside whatever questions I might have asked him. He practically crawls over me to get out of the photobooth, and I follow behind him, one hand on my pocket to feel the photos I know are inside. I can't help feeling like I need to hold onto them. They might be dangerous proof of what Taylor and I are doing, but I feel like I need that. I need something I can hold onto.


	38. Alone

The rest of the evening seems to drag by. I know Taylor didn't promise anything specific, but I can't help thinking that once we're alone in the hotel, good things are going to happen. I've never been happier to share a hotel room with him. 

When we were younger, sharing a hotel room with Taylor was the worst form of torture. We seemed to get paired up all the time, probably because we were best friends and Isaac claimed to need his privacy. Taylor never seemed to need or want privacy; he would walk around the hotel room in nothing but his underwear and sometimes less than that. To a normal brother, it would have been disgusting, I suppose, but to me it was just a reminder of what I couldn't have.

Oddly, it wasn't so bad after we both began dating. Then there was a reason to leave the room, and after he got married, a reason not to share a room with him at all. Not being near him hurt far less than having to see him with someone else. The farther I was from him, the less I was tempted. 

That's all irrelevant now, though. Not only are our wives—if you can even call them that—not here right now, but I don't have to watch Taylor walk around the room and know that I can't touch him. I _can_ touch him now. What's that saying about how the best way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it? 

I plan on giving in to temptation very soon.

Taylor and I both have a few more beers before leaving the festival, which leaves me feeling even more uninhibited than earlier. I know how risky that little public display of affection was, though, so I manage to contain myself until the elevator doors close behind us. As soon as it does, I practically pounce on him, pinning him against the wall and kissing him hard. 

I'm tired of sitting around waiting for Taylor to make the next move. His true feelings might still be a mystery to me, but I don't doubt that he wants me too. So why wait for him?

The kiss doesn't last long, since we're only a few floors up, but it's enough to leave us both breathing heavily. Taylor's off the elevator before me, taking long strides down the hallway that give me a wonderful view of his ass. He glances back at me as he slides the key card into the door and I rush to catch up with him. He pulls me into the room with him, letting the door slam behind us.

Our sense of urgency seems to vanish then. I guess it's because we're alone now, with no one but each other and no reason not to slow down and enjoy this night. Even though we still haven't spoken it aloud, I know where this night is going. For once, Taylor and I are on the same page. 

Still, I'm not sure why Taylor bothers with the pretense of turning on the television and taking his time shuffling around the room, kicking off his shoes, setting down all his new purchases. But he does. He takes his sweet time finding his way to the bed. The room has two, of course, but we've managed to cover one of them with suitcases and clothes already. I wonder if that means we'll be sleeping in the same bed tonight—after we do more interesting things in it, of course.

Speaking of more interesting things...

Taylor leans back against the headboard and gives me a look that says he's expecting me to do all the work now that I've proven that I can. I think I can handle that. Probably. What I'm _not_ going to do is argue about it. If Taylor wants me to take charge, then that's what Taylor's going to get. Even if it seems like I've got the upper hand, I guess I really don't.

I kick off my shoes as gracefully as I can possibly manage, which isn't very graceful at all, and try not to look overly eager as I crawl onto the bed. I've given up trying to look sexy when I'm with Taylor; though I can't see why, he seems to want me just the way I am, and there's no way I could upstage him no matter how hard I tried. So if I look like an idiot crawling toward him while he reclines ever so beautifully against the headboard, then that's just how things are going to be.

It doesn't take Taylor long to prove that he definitely still has the upper hand. As soon as I reach him and move in for the first kiss, he flips me over onto my back. The move is more gentle than it sounds, and really, it's not like I mind having Taylor on top of me. 

Every other time Taylor and I have been together, it's been rushed or fueled by alcohol. Even though we're both a little tipsy—I can taste beer with every swipe of his tongue across mine—this night is different. We're taking this slowly, taking time to actually _feel_ things a little bit more. Taylor's hands take their time wandering up my chest and nudging my shirt off. As much as I want to get Taylor naked, I don't mind that it takes us a few minutes and a lot of kissing to remove all of our clothes. 

Taylor kisses his way down my chest, and I get so lost in the feeling of that, how surprisingly gentle it is, that I almost don't notice him reaching for something on the nightstand. A bottle of lube. I wonder when he put that there? Obviously he had the same plans for this trip as me, and that thought makes me smile even more than I already am. He pulls back from me for just long enough to squeeze a little lube onto his hand, and then he's between my legs, pressing a finger into me at the same moment that his tongue touches my dick. It barely hurts at all this time, a far cry from the last time Taylor and I were together just a few short days ago.

Everything about this time is different. He takes his sweet time getting me ready, drawing me almost to the edge and relaxing me completely at the same time. I'm basically a boneless puddle of goo by the time Taylor crawls on top of me and positions himself between my legs. He slides into me with a sound that's more like a sigh of relief than anything else, and I can't help feeling exactly the same. 

Taylor and I fall into an easy rhythm, our bodies moving together like we've done this a million times and not just once before. I don't want to think about that other time; it was awkward and strange and filled with all the wrong sort of emotions. It was confirmation that I'm a horribly greedy person, but right now, all I want is Taylor. If this moment with him could never end, that would be perfect.

But of course it has to end. 

I was already perilously close to the edge when we began, and Taylor doesn't even need to touch me to push me the rest of the way over. I wrap my arms tightly around him as I come to try to stop myself from shaking. It doesn't work, and I end up collapsing back onto the bed, both of our stomachs coated in my come. Taylor trails a finger across my trembling chest, then pulls it to his lips and sucks on it. He actually _moans_ , apparently savoring the taste of, well, me. And just like that, he's coming too, his other hand gripping the sheets tightly as he fills me with his own come. 

It wasn't entirely sweet and romantic, but I have a feeling it's as close as we're going to get.

Taylor rolls to my side, seemingly content to just lie there covered in sweat and come. I feel gross, though, so I mumble something about taking a shower and make my way toward the bathroom. My whole body aches, but it's a good ache considering the cause, and I know a warm shower will only leave me feeling even better.

I don't linger long in the bathroom. Being away from Taylor for even a few minutes is a few minutes too long. I know that makes me horribly pathetic, but I've accepted this about myself. When it comes to Taylor, I just am pathetic.

As I shower, I start to wonder how this trip will change things for us. Maybe it won't change anything at all. Maybe when we get back to Tulsa, we'll go back into our old routine of barely seeing each other outside of band stuff and parties that we've both agreed to go to. 

And then there's Carrick.

I have no idea what's going to happen with him. We had something; I know we did. I'm just not sure what it was, and what this growing thing with Taylor will mean for whatever was between me and Carrick. 

The only thing I'm certain of is that my marriage is ending. As for everything else, I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

I finish showering as quickly as possible and try to remind myself to stop worrying about the future. The only thing that matters right now is that Taylor's right outside this bathroom, waiting for me to come to bed. What else could be more important than that? 

Even though it makes me a little self-conscious, I walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. Taylor barely even seems to notice me as he stares down intently at his phone. At some point he's put on a pair of boxers, rolled over onto his stomach and found his phone, it seems. I try not to be offended by his lack of attention as I fumble through my suitcase for a clean pair of boxers of my own, slipping them on in place of the towel.

Taylor finally glances up as I climb onto the bed and tosses his phone onto the bedside table. He holds out an arm and I curl into it easily, loving the way it feels to be by his side. Our bodies are just a perfect fit, if you ask me. We used to huddle together like this and watch movies late at night in the hotel rooms when we were younger. I'm sure there was nothing sexual about it to Taylor then, and it wasn't always that way for me either, but I always hated that we grew out of that sort of innocent cuddling.

I start to drift off right there, lulled to sleep by the warmth and comfort of Tay's body so close to mine, but I'm jarred awake by his phone's text message alert. He pulls away from me and lunges for the phone. I can't help wondering who might be texting him so late, but he's not close enough for me to just look over his shoulder.

“Who's texting?” I ask, because I'm not above admitting how nosy I am.

“Nat,” he replies, then finishes whatever he was typing back to her and sets his phone aside again. “Just letting me know the kids were alright.”

“Oh,” I reply, reluctantly curling up next to Taylor again.

Now I just feel like an asshole for not calling or texting to check in on my own kids. Neither of our marriages are exactly in good shape right now, though. I'm pretty sure Kate wouldn't exactly jump for joy if I called her, and the conversation would inevitably be strained and painful for both of us. It's not that I don't _care_ about my kids—of course I do—but there's so much other shit making things complicated.

Like all of the men in my life. Which isn't a phrase I would have ever imagined myself saying, but there it is.

I know this little vacation is making life seem deceptively simple, but I don't care. Getting away for a few days isn't going to magically fix my problems or Taylor's. I know that. But I also know that it feels really, really good to fall asleep with his arm around me. So right now, that's what I'm going to do. I can worry about everything else tomorrow.


	39. Home

Being on stage again feels good. Really, really good. I'm the world's least eloquent songwriter, clearly, if _good_ is the only word I can think of to describe the sheer, absolute bliss of playing music, but there just aren't any words that totally encompass it all. 

The only other thing in my life that comes remotely close to this feeling is sex with Taylor. 

I know we've only gone all the way twice so far, but just being with him has always felt perfect. By Taylor's side is my favorite place to be. That's just the simple truth of me. I guess a big part of the reason I love being on stage again is because he's with me. We're together, creating something—something that's more than the sum of its parts. Ike's here too, but let's be honest, my attention is focused entirely on Taylor. There's just something great about knowing that no matter what else happens, we can always come back together and the music will be there.

Not even the events of this summer seem to have effected that, and I really don't have the words to explain how much of a relief that is.

It's like being at home again. That's the best way to explain it. The music, Taylor's embrace, his huge smile at me from across the stage... that's where I belong. That's my home. 

We rarely get to play our full two hour set at a festival, and this one is no exception. That's okay, though. God knows we're out of practice, so I don't think any of us really mind playing a shorter set after this break we've taken from the band. Still, it feels so good to play again that it is a little bittersweet to leave the stage so soon. It only reminds me how soon we'll be back home in Tulsa.

Is twenty six too old to consider running away? Because I'm giving it serious consideration right now.

The biggest thing stopping me is that I don't think I could convince Taylor to come with me. For reasons I will never be able to understand, he obviously feels some sense of loyalty to Natalie. And then, of course, there are his children—and mine as well. Even when you ignore that whole being related thing, there are just too many things standing in our way. There's too much that we just can't run away from.

We all stay late at the festival, signing autographs and talking to fans, but the only thing on my mind is going back to the hotel room where I can be alone with Taylor again. I do my best to be friendly and talkative, but I'm sure they can tell my mind is elsewhere. I can only hope they don't know _where_. If most of our fans could see my thoughts right now, I'm pretty sure they would run away screaming. Then again, some of them might like it. I don't think I have any room to judge those particular fans.

It's late when we finally manage to drag ourselves away from the fans and head back to the hotel. Our flight is fairly early the next morning, so I have a feeling Taylor will want to go straight to bed. I'm okay with that, I suppose. I need him, but I'm trying not to be _that_ needy. He starts yawning before we've even made it to the hotel elevator, so I know I'm right. We might cuddle, but that's probably the most I can hope for.

After so many years of nothing, though, even a little cuddling is alright with me.

Taylor practically falls through the door, even though he's the one holding the key card and unlocking it. He kicks his shoes off as he walks into the room, tossing aside his bags and things as he goes, not seeming to care where any of it lands. It's kind of amusing to watch, and it's just another sign of how tired he is. He grabs the television remote and flicks it on as he collapses onto the bed, not even facing the screen. I don't remember him needing the tv on to sleep, but apparently he's developed that habit at some point. I guess he's used to being surrounded by noise.

As much as I want to join him, I know I need a shower first. I convince myself to let that wait until the morning, though, and settle for just brushing my teeth and changing into a different shirt that smells a little better than the one I just played a concert in. 

Like the night before, I walk back into the room to find Taylor in his underwear with his phone held close to his face. His fingers are dancing across the screen and I don't dare ask who he's texting. It's Natalie, I'm sure. We _are_ heading back to Tulsa in the morning, after all, and even I had the good sense to text Kate earlier and ask if she was going to be at the house when I got back. Whether or not she passed along my message to the kids that I miss them, well, I guess I'll find out when I see them. It's not much, and I know it's not all that they deserve, but I guess I just don't know how give that to them. 

Taylor tosses the phone aside as I climb into the bed and gives me half a smile. It's not much, but I can see how tired he is. Once again, he holds his arms out to me like I'm a child. If I didn't want so badly to be near him, I might be offended by how much he's coddling me. But I want it. I'm not sure my feelings for Taylor have really evolved all that much since that first kiss. Where he's concerned, I'm still stuck at age twelve—a desperate, horny teenager still clinging to his older brother with a childlike sense of wonder and adoration.

I wonder if that's how he sees me. It probably is, and I wouldn't disagree with him.

Not really caring if it makes me look pathetic, I curl up willingly into his arms. I can't sleep as easily with the television on as Taylor can, but I'm not going to ask him to turn it off. In his arms, I can handle just about anything, I think. He kisses the top of my head gently and that's the last thing that really registers before I drift off to sleep, lulled easily by just how wonderful it feels to be near him.

The next thing that registers is Taylor's cell phone blaring and telling us it's time to wake up. Neither of us is particularly willing to move, but after a few minutes, we both find the strength to pull ourselves out of bed. I still desperately need a shower, so I head for the bathroom. If I know him at all, Taylor will probably sneak out for his first coffee of the morning while I'm in the shower.

Just as I finish rinsing the shampoo from my hair, the bathroom door opens with a loud creak. I rub my eyes and glance toward the door. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but somehow, Taylor naked and walking across the tiny bathroom wasn't really it. 

He slips into the shower wordlessly and nudges me backward until my back collides with the shower wall. Then his lips collide with mine. He doesn't taste like coffee yet, and I'm surprised; somehow the lack of coffee is the most surprising part of all of this. I've gotten used to Taylor just taking what he wants, I suppose. Or giving me what I want. The two are basically one and the same, anyway.

Taylor slides gracefully to his knees and takes me into his mouth all at once. I guess this is him returning the favor, although I think the sex more than made up for my rushed photobooth blow job. Whatever his motivation is, I'm not going to question it. I'm just going to lean back and enjoy the way Taylor's mouth feels. 

I'm not really at my best in the morning, so it isn't long before I'm warning Taylor that I'm about to come. He doesn't move—just speeds up and gets me off even faster, then swallows every drop. Once he's licked up everything I've got to offer, he stands up and presses his lips to mine. It's still a little weird to taste myself on his lips, but out of everything that's weird about this situation, that's really pretty low down on the list.

We finish showering together like it isn't weird at all for us to share a shower. And I guess, compared to what we just did, actually _showering_ together isn't all that strange. Still, it's not something we've done since we were kids. Then, it was more like a tub full of bubbles than a steamy shower that kind of smells like sex. 

Once we step out of the shower, the day becomes a blur in the way that only a travel day can. It isn't long before Bex is beating down our door to make sure we're packed and ready to go, and then we're off to the airport. At the airport, I play games on my phone while Taylor reads a book. I can't help sneaking little glances at him; he's wearing those glasses that he'll swear are just part of his “travel disguise” but I know he really needs them. He's self conscious about it, but I think they look really cute. I may have admitted that to him once when he asked how they looked. Honestly, I wonder how he didn't realized sooner that I wanted him. I wasn't exactly subtle about it.

He catches me staring right as the voice on the intercom announces that our flight is boarding. Good. The flurry of activity gives me an excuse to move away from him so that he can't see me blushing. After everything else, I don't know why being caught staring bothers me, but it does. Maybe I'm not ready for Taylor to realize just how much of my thoughts he occupies—if he doesn't already know.

Without discussing it this time, we sit together. I give Taylor the window seat this time, and just as I expected, he spends the entire takeoff with his camera pressed up to the tiny window. The camera around his neck is even dorkier than those glasses, but I'll never tell him. I like seeing him passionate about anything, especially after so many days of him looking like the walking dead. Passionate is good, even if it does mean he ends up wearing cameras the same way he used to wear all those necklaces.

The flight is unremarkable. Taylor lets me borrow his book while he takes a nap, his head lolling to the side so that it almost touches my shoulder. I have to resist the urge to scoot just an inch or two to the right so that his head will rest against me. But that would be weird and pathetic, so I don't do it.

And then the flight is over. We're home.

Tulsa's airport is rarely busy, so there's something kind of underwhelming about walking through it. Coming home should feel like more of an event than this. But what was I really expecting? What have I got to come home to? At least Isaac has Nikki and their kids, who both come running to greet him the second that we round the corner and pass into their line of sight. I don't have anyone to welcome me home like that. Even Taylor has Natalie.

Wait.

_Natalie?_

I have to blink a few times to convince myself that I'm not imagining her. But there she is, surrounded by children. There's an unmistakable smile on her face, a smile that I've come to know all too well over the years. It's the smile she wore when she greeted fans during that first public appearance together, it graced her face the day they announced the pregnancy and it showed up in every single wedding photo, too.

It's the smile that says she knows Taylor is hers and hers alone.

And it's a smile that makes me want to puke.


	40. Reunion

I could say that I have no idea why Natalie is here. I _wish_ I had no idea why she was here. But the truth is, I think I knew all along. I knew Taylor would never leave his wife and children. Nothing that happened between us during this trip away truly had any impact on our lives here. I should have known that.

I can't stick around and watch this little reunion. I grab my luggage and haul it out of the building as quickly as possible, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone. There's already a cab waiting outside, thank god, and I toss my luggage in haphazardly before climbing inside. 

During the drive back to my house, I can't seem to rid my mind of those awful images of Taylor and Natalie. That stupid smile on her face. The way he slipped an arm around her in the same casual way he held me in bed. The tiny look I swear she shot me, as if to remind me where her place is and where mine _isn't_. I'm pretty sure I imagined that part. But maybe not.

I lean back against the seat and let out a groan. Coming home was supposed to feel good. I don't even feel good knowing that I'm going back to my own damn house now. Kate's there, but we both agreed via a series of awkward texts that it would be best if we didn't create some stupid farce at the airport. I couldn't even convince myself that I missed her; trying to convince the rest of the airport that I did would have been pointless.

And we certainly couldn't have competed with the show that Taylor and Natalie put on.

I think it's safe to say that image is going to be forever burned into my brain. There's nothing anyone, not even Taylor, can do to erase it. 

The cab pulls into my driveway and I'm not really surprised that no one is waiting outside to greet me. I certainly didn't expect a warm welcome home. That would have been too much to hope for even at the best of times. Kate and I have just never been the kind who showered each other with affection in public. Maybe that's part of our problem, or maybe it's just a sign of the problem. I think my recent tendency to have sex with men might be a bigger problem, even if Kate isn't aware of it.

Whatever the problem is, I don't really want some huge welcome home, and I doubt I deserve it either.

I pay the cab driver and lug my suitcase out of the back. So this is it. I'm home. With my suitcase dragging behind me, I shuffle to the front door and fish out my keys to open it. The house is just as quiet as I expected; even the three people who I know are here don't seem to generate any noise at all.

“In the kitchen,” Kate calls out, her soft voice barely breaking the silence.

I set my suitcase by the stairs and walk into the kitchen. Just as she said, Kate's at the counter, cutting up sandwiches for Junia and Shepherd. They both rush toward me and demand hugs, and I'm frozen on the spot. Everything has been so upside down lately that I didn't know if they would even register that I was gone enough to miss me, but I suppose they did.

I'm _such_ a bad father.

Of course I missed them, too, but sometimes there's so much going on that it's like my brain doesn't have room to think about my kids in addition to everything else. It was so much easier when I could ignore my feelings for Taylor because nothing was actually happening, and I didn't have to worry about Carrick and an impending divorce too. Now I have to pause for a moment to dredge up the feelings of love that I know should just be right there at the surface when my daughter tells me she's happy I'm home.

I don't think I've ever felt more awful than I do right now. Not even seeing Taylor and Natalie together felt as bad as this.

Speaking of that...

Once the kids let me go and turn their attention to the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the table, I turn to Kate. 

“So, umm, I saw Natalie at the airport earlier...”

“Did you?” Kate asks, barely looking at me as she busies herself with another sandwich. “I didn't know if she was going to make it out there with all the kids.”

“You knew she was going, though?” I ask.

Kate nods. “Yeah... I did. Why?”

I have to ask. I dislike being in the dark almost as much as I'm sure I'm going to hate Kate's answer. “Are umm... are she and Tay getting back together, then?”

“It's not like they ever really broke up, is it? They're still married, Zac.”

“I know that...”

Kate holds the finished sandwich out to me, and I take it mostly just to give myself something to do. I take a huge bite, just to fill my mouth before I can say anything stupid. Of course Taylor and Natalie are back together—whatever that really means for them. I guess it's like all those times when she would run off to Georgia during the first two or three years. She always came back. 

She really isn't going anywhere, and I don't know why I deluded myself into thinking that she would.

Kate glances at the kids, probably to see if they're paying any attention to us, then says, “I'm glad they're working things out. I've been so worried about her, you know, after the...”

She won't say the word, and I don't blame her for that. I nod, and set my sandwich down. “I guess I just didn't realize they were even talking. Taylor didn't... didn't say anything.”

“She's been texting him for a few days, and she spent the night not long before you guys left. Neither one of them really wanted to say anything until they were sure, you know?”

I nod, even though I really _don't_ know. I don't understand anything about this at all, except for the part where Taylor lied to me. Okay, it's not technically a lie if he just didn't tell me that his wife was moving back in with him. But everything that happened between the two of us in Milwaukee... I can't imagine any of that would have happened if I'd known about Natalie. And Taylor knew that, I'm sure. He kept that from me so that he could get what he wanted.

It's not like I didn't know Taylor was manipulative. And it's not like I didn't know that I fold pathetically when he wants something from me. But this... this is different. This feels different. And I don't like it.

“So, Zac...” Kate says softly, in a tone that says she's got some bad news that she's really trying to deliver as gently as she can. “We really need to talk about what _we're_ going to do...”

“What do you mean?” 

She crosses her arms over her chest, but it looks more like she's trying to hug herself than like she's angry. “Well, do you think we can patch things up the way Tay and Nat have?”

I don't even need to consider it for a second. The fact that I just don't _want_ to says it all. I shake my head and Kate nods hers.

“That's what I thought. So I think... I mean, I guess we need to figure out what the next step is. Legally, I think we're supposed to live separately for a while, a few months or something, before we can really go through with it.”

 _It._ The divorce, she means. Just like Natalie's miscarriage, she can't seem to say the word itself.

“So, umm... what do you mean, live separately?” I ask, not adding the part where that sounds like what we've done for the past month anyway.

Kate chews on her lip for a moment, and I know that move. That's what happens on the occasions when she feels some guilt for whatever it is she's about to ask of me. She sighs. “Well... you've still technically got that apartment downtown, right?”

Technically, I do. When we moved back to Tulsa, we—me and Ike, specifically—rented apartments in a building not too far from our office. After our weddings, we lived there for a while until we could find places of our own. It wasn't until after Shepherd was born that Kate and I actually got this house ready to move into, but somehow it seems like a lot longer. We kept our apartment just in case we needed a place to crash after working late into the night.

And now, I guess, I'm moving back into it.

“Yeah,” I manage to choke out. “You know we kept our old apartment.”

Kate nods. “Well, I just think... maybe it would be good if you moved there. You don't have to _stay_ there. I mean, if you find a place you like better... it's up to you. I just want the kids to stay here, you know? It's the only house they've ever really known. It's good to keep that, I think.”

Which means, I suppose, that she's planning to keep the kids with her. I'm not really surprised; it's not like she's ever told me I'm a bad father, but she doesn't really need to. 

I glance over at the two of them—Shepherd at the table and Junia in her high chair—and I'm certain I feel my heart physically breaking. I'm only just realizing how horribly I'm fucking things up with them, and now Kate's telling me to leave. I don't even get a chance to fix my mistakes. It's not as though I could fix _all_ of my mistakes, though, and there are more than a few that I would be perfectly content to keep making.

I remember the way it felt to move into that apartment. Even though we'd lived on our own in New York for almost three years, and even though I was almost old enough to buy my own alcohol, the first day in my own apartment was the first time I felt like an adult. It was a new beginning—just a few short months later, I would have a _wife_. We could start a family of our own, a life of our own.

Now that I'm being exiled back to that apartment, it feels like everything has been undone. And I guess some of it has. Soon, I _won't_ have a wife. I'll still have a family, though, but I can't say that it feels like I'll have much of a life.

I'm not angry with Kate. She's not really forcing this on me, and I have a feeling that if I refused, she would go. But I won't. I won't do that to the woman who has no clue how fair she's been with me considering all the things she doesn't know I've done. I'll take this punishment knowing that I deserve it and more.

Somehow, I can't help feeling like I should be a lot more upset by this. I should just feel _more_ , period. But I don't. My emotions seem to have abandoned me. Maybe I've just reached by breaking point—between my marriage ending and Taylor's betrayal, I've just reached the point where I can't be hurt any more.

Which, my inner pessimist reminds me, means that soon, something else is going to come along and hurt me even more, just to prove me wrong.


	41. Boxes

Moving back into the apartment is way too easy. I can't help thinking it's the sort of thing that should take days and days and be kind of painful. But it isn't. It just sort of happens in one long afternoon, and then it's over. 

I can only hope it's a sign that this whole divorce process is going to be easy and painless.

Kate helps me some with the packing, but it feels like the sort of thing I should do by myself. I'm the one who got myself into this mess, after all. She still brings me a few boxes, and even offers to wash some of my clothes before I pack them, but I draw the line there. Maybe I'm treating this whole process a little bit like penance, but I guess it kind of is. Whatever it is, it definitely isn't all that difficult. I might own a lot of crap, but the apartment isn't that big, so for now I'm only packing up what I really need. 

We haven't really planned when I'm going to come and get the rest of my stuff. We haven't really planned _any_ of this. It's just so new to both of us. I guess we'll have to figure it out together.

The kids are spending the day at my parents', so at least we don't have to worry about figuring out some way to explain all of this to them. I know it's awful that I'm leaving it up to Kate to tell them later that Daddy isn't coming home, but I never claimed to be a good person. There's no doubt in my mind that she can handle that conversation more gracefully than I can anyway. 

Not having the kids here at least makes it easier to finish packing up my life. As soon as I have that thought, I feel awful, but it seems like these days I _always_ feel awful for one reason or another. Still, it doesn't take very long at all to pack up all the clothes, books, games and stuff that I think I'll need. Kate makes sure to pack up one box of plates and stuff for me, although I'm pretty sure we both know that I'm just going to order takeout or eat frozen dinners. 

When it's all said and done, everything I need fits into just a few boxes that are pretty easy to cram into the bed of my truck. Kate helps me to hoist them up into the truck, even though they're really not too heavy for me to move on my own. She's trying to prove something by being helpful right now, but I'm not quite sure what it is. 

Once all the boxes are loaded up, we end up just standing awkwardly beside my truck, staring at each other.

“You're sure you don't need any help unpacking? I really don't mind helping...”

I shake my head. “No, I'll be alright. You know me, I'll probably just carry in my clothes and xBox, and worry about the rest of it later.”

Kate chuckles softly. “Yeah, that sounds like you. Anyway, I guess if you need help, you can just call Taylor or something.”

I hope Kate doesn't notice how sick I suddenly feel just at the mention of his name. This is our third day back in Tulsa and I haven't spoken to him at all. I don't really know when I will. If it were up to me, maybe I never would, at least not until I absolutely had to. I'm not sure what I expected from him, but somehow it definitely wasn't for him to sleep with me and conveniently forget to mention that he and Nat were back together. 

“Yeah,” I finally manage to squeak out. “I guess I could call him.”

Kate gives me a small smile. “I know the band is kind of taking a break, but that doesn't mean you guys have to as well. You can still hang out aside from band stuff. I mean, you're still brothers.”

 _Still brothers_. Yeah, that's part of the problem. Of course, I'm not going to tell my wife that. She's been pretty understanding, really, about the way our marriage has fallen apart, but that's only because she doesn't know the half of it. If she knew the rest... just thinking about it almost makes me shudder until I realize she's still watching me.

“Well, I should probably get going,” I say, not even trying to return her smile. I really just _can't_.

Kate nods. “Send me a text or something when you get settled in?”

“Sure,” I reply, although knowing me, I'll probably forget or get distracted or something.

Our goodbyes don't get any sappier than that, and I definitely didn't expect them to. Even when things were good, we weren't the sort of couple who got all emotional, in public or in private. We had our moments, sure, but those were mostly the result of our fights. It seems like we've always just been coasting long and trying to keep the peace, and that was enough for us. We didn't need to get any more invested than that.

I guess that's our problem. We never really had that much to fight for in the first place.

We never had a real romance like Isaac and Nikki. We just sort of fell together because we were both there and single. And by the time we had a family, we had practically given up fighting for something more. The kids weren't a reason to stick together and make it work, like they seem to be for Taylor and Natalie.

As soon as I think about them, it makes me ill. Unfortunately, I think Kate would have a few questions for me if I ran back into the house to puke. So I suck it up and climb into my truck, not even glancing back at her before starting it up and pulling out onto the road.

It's a pretty long drive, or at least it feels like it today, from the suburbs to the middle of downtown. Even though I'm moving closer to our office, it feels like I'm leaving everything behind. I might as well be in another state entirely, nowhere near any of the people I care about. 

But who are those people, really? 

I know the rest of my family would be there for me, if I could bear showing my face around them at all. But Taylor... it feels like I'm losing him. I have to remind myself that he was never really mine in the first place, even for the brief period of time when it felt like he was. 

And then there's Carrick...

I was so happy to have him in Tulsa, and now I'm moving farther away from him. I haven't even spoken to him in a week, though. What could I possibly say to him after what he saw, what he took part in? I'm not sure I can stand to look at him now.

I seem to be burning bridges left and right. Pretty soon, I won't have anyone left.

My pity part doesn't end once I arrive at the apartment, but at least now I've got other things to do to distract myself. Even though I wasn't really joking when I told Kate I probably wouldn't unpack tonight, I don't have anything better to do than lug all my boxes through the parking garage and up to my floor. The boxes seem heavier this time around, and the physical exertion is enough to occupy my mind for a while so that I don't have to think about everything that led up to this moment. If I stop to think about all of it, I might just open a window and throw myself out. 

Okay. Maybe I wouldn't go _that_ far. But I don't really want to test myself.

Carrying the boxes into the apartment is about as productive as I have it in me to be today. It's not like the apartment is an unfurnished box, anyway. It's still full of furniture, appliances and other random stuff to make it livable if we need to crash after a late recording session. I'm pretty sure we even left some dishes and things in the kitchen, so I probably don't even need the box Kate packed for me.

I do at least manage to get all the boxes carried in, though. After that, I dig out one suitcase of clothes and the bag with my bathroom stuff, and put those in the appropriate places. The only other thing I'm concerned with right now is my xBox. There's no cable here and I'll probably have to steal someone else's wifi for a few days, but I can at least play a few games on the old tv we left here. I don't even remember who it used to belong to, and there's one spot in the corner where the color is all funny because some drunk—Taylor, if I recall correctly—threw a shoe at it for reasons unknown. But it works enough to play my video games and that's all that matters.

And that's how I spend my afternoon.

I only manage to pull myself away from the video games when I get hungry. I guess I really haven't eaten all day, and that is neither good nor normal for me, but I've been busy. Plus, there's no food at all in the apartment right now. I didn't bother to stop and pick up any groceries on my way here, because I'm clearly not that much of a thoughtful, responsible adult.

So, time to find some place that will deliver a pizza here. If I'm going to be a bachelor, I might as well really be a bachelor. If I could order a case of beer with my pizza, I would.

Somehow, I have a feeling that pizza, beer and video games is about as exciting as my bachelor pad is going to get, and there's probably something very sad about that.

In thirty minutes or less, I'm already halfway through my pepperoni pizza and feeling like a total failure at life. When my phone starts beeping at me, alerting me to a text, I have to talk myself into even checking it. I did manage to text Kate earlier, but I can't imagine what she would be texting me about now. Is she really that concerned that I can't make it on my own? If so, maybe she shouldn't have kicked me out...

The text isn't from Kate, though. It's from Carrick, and that only makes me feel worse because it reminds me that I've been ignoring him lately.

_You going to the 4th of July party tomorrow?_

I stare at the screen for a few minutes, the empty text box just taunting me and daring me to reply. The biggest part of me wants to say no, but there's also a part of me that really misses Carrick. Still, a party at his house? Those have a history of not working out so well for me.

_At your house?_

I only have time to take a few more bites of my pizza before he replies.

_No, at your friends' place. Angie and Johnny? Should be more low key than my parties..._

Low key? Even though he can't see it, I raise an eyebrow at that. They might usually be low key, but I seem to remember him watching Taylor give me head at one of those parties. I'm very tempted to tell Carrick I'll only come to the party if Taylor doesn't. It probably doesn't matter, though. Now that Natalie's back in Taylor's life, I can't imagine he'll be coming to very many parties. With that in mind, I text Carrick back.

_Yeah, I'll be there :)_

The smile is only on my phone, not my face, but Carrick doesn't need to know that. 


	42. Fireworks

I let myself sleep in pretty late the next day, just because I can. That's the one good thing about being on a semi-hiatus from the band and suddenly living entirely on my own, I guess—I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. If I want to microwave last night's pizza and eat it for breakfast, there's absolutely no one there to stop me. If I want to walk around the apartment naked after my shower, there's no one at all to tell me I can't.

Unfortunately, there's also no food aside from that leftover pizza, so I do eventually have to put on clothes and head over to the nearest grocery store.

In addition to being a necessity, it's also a stalling tactic. I don't want to face my friends and family any sooner than absolutely necessary. Usually there would be a big Independence Day party at my parents' house too, but no one has mentioned it this year, so I guess Angie and Johnny's party is it. Or maybe they just don't want me at the family party. I do consider that possibility for a minute or two, but ultimately I dismiss it. They don't hate me enough to exclude me from family events. I think.

One man can only eat so many frozen dinners, though, so eventually I do have to leave the grocery store and return to my apartment. Once I'm there, the only things between me and the party are a few hours of video games and a frozen burrito.

All too soon, like the rest of the day might as well not have even happened, I'm pulling into Johnny and Angelene's driveway. It's already crowded, because I procrastinated as much as I could, and I'm really dismayed to see Taylor's car amongst them all. 

I really, really didn't think he would be here.

Part of me wants to get back in my truck and just leave, but I've already been spotted. Johnny's on his way out of the garage with his arms piled full of fireworks, and he shouts out a loud greeting to me. Too late to turn back now. My reply isn't nearly as cheerful as he sounded, but it's the best I can do right now. It's a longshot, but maybe I can just avoid Taylor. That tiny little hope is really all I've got going for me, and it's what propels me on to the backyard where I can hear the party raging.

Whatever tiny bit of optimism I managed to dredge up, it's all gone once I round the corner of the house and see the crowd. Not only is Taylor here, but so is Natalie. She's hanging off his arm with a beer in her other hand and a huge smile on her face. I'm not sure how she went from the grieving woman who'd just suffered a miscarriage to... this. Then again, nothing she's done has ever really surprised me. I always expect the worst and most ridiculous from Natalie, and she delivers.

She's the first person to turn and notice me, and for a moment, I swear her smile only gets bigger and more devious. Then it fades away into a carefully calculated sympathetic pout.

“Oh, Zac,” she says. “How are you holding up?”

I'm sure she's referring to everything with Kate, and I'm not surprised at all that she knows. And it isn't like she just told everyone my wife kicked me out, but with the way they're all staring at me now, I know I'm going to have to explain myself.

“I'm fine,” I reply, not looking Natalie in the eyes but not wanting to look at any of the other people who are now staring at me, either. 

“I know it must be tough, moving out and...”

Taylor cuts her off. “Moving out? What?”

“Yeah, I'm living in the old apartment now. Hadn't you heard?” Before Taylor can do more than shake his head, I turn toward Johnny. “Have you got anything stronger than beer?”

“In the kitchen,” he replies, his eyes wide.

I should probably stick around and explain myself to everyone, not just Taylor, but I really don't think I can handle it. Even after I turn around to walk toward the house, I know Taylor's right there behind me, stubbornly chasing after me for answers. I don't spin around to face him until we're both inside the house. He practically falls backward when I do, and at any other time, I probably would have laughed at that.

“Why the hell are you staying at the apartment?”

“You know, I'm really surprised Natalie isn't sharing all this gossip with you,” I reply.

Taylor's mouth falls open, and then he shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things weren't going that well, but... what, did she kick you out?”

“Something like that,” I say. “It's not as bad as it sounds. We're just... yeah, we're not living together right now.”

“But you'll work things out, right?” He asks, reaching out to put a comforting hand on my arm.

I shake his hand off. “No, Tay. You knew we were talking about a divorce. I'm not going to stay in a marriage that just isn't working. I'm not like some people.”

“You mean me,” he replies. “You just don't get it, do you?”

“What I don't get is why you didn't, at any point during that trip, feel the need to tell me that you guys were back together,” I practically hiss.

Taylor's brow furrows. “Is that why you're so upset with me? Zac, she's my _wife_. We never broke up. She just needed time to deal with things. You know how Nat is.”

“Oh, I know how Nat is,” I reply with a bitter laugh. “I know how deep she's got her claws in you.”

Taylor's eyes widen. “Where the hell is this coming from, Zac? Are you saying you have a problem with my wife? With me?”

“Yeah, I guess I do have a problem... with both of you.” I turn to leave then, but Taylor grabs my arm and pulls me back. 

“And what the hell _is_ that problem?”

I roll my eyes. “I don't know how much clearer I can make it, Tay. You don't feel the need to tell me what's going on in your marriage, and then you... we... do what we did during that trip.”

“So what, Zac?” He asks, chuckling. “Are you really surprised that I'm not just giving up on a ten year marriage?”

“But you're surprised that I'm giving up on mine?” I counter, really unsure what point Taylor is trying to make.

“I guess I shouldn't be,” he replies. “I mean, you're sleeping with me, you're sleeping with Carrick... you let your wife run off to Georgia and it doesn't even seem to bother you at all that she's gone. Just means you don't even have to sneak around, I guess.”

I have to hold myself back from punching him because I know he has a point. I'm not a good person. Why should I expect Taylor to be any better than I've been?

“So forgive me if I didn't realize that I needed to tell you everything that was going on in my marriage, Zac. It's not like you would understand it, anyway.”

“You'd be surprised how much I would understand staying with someone who made you miserable,” I reply, and I'm not even talking about Kate anymore. Whether Taylor realizes that or not, I don't know, but this conversation is giving me too much of a headache to stick around and explain it all to him in detail.

Besides, he's already proven that he doesn't think I need to know everything about his life. So why does he need to know everything about mine?

I can hear the fireworks going off outside and I know we're missing a lot of the party. Right now, I just really need a drink. A _strong_ drink. I wrench my arm free of Taylor and continue on to the kitchen, not caring at all if he follows me. If he does, I'll just ignore him. There's nothing more we can accomplish with this conversation. I'm leaving Kate, he's never leaving Natalie, and that's that.

After filling a plastic cup with Jack and Coke, I make my way back through the house. Taylor is nowhere to be seen, and I guess that shouldn't surprise me. Things got tough, so he ran. In everything ever, except his marriage, that's just what he does. He can act like the band's leader all he wants, but when the going gets tough, he tucks tail and runs. Taylor's the first person to hide from the even tiniest sign of real drama.

So why am I at all surprised that he's running away from this thing that's happening between us?

I guess I'm not. I might hope for more and delude myself into thinking Taylor won't disappoint me, but deep down, I know he will. 

I down half my drink before even setting foot into the backyard, and for a moment I consider going back and refilling it. As much as I want to get drunk, I'm not sure it's really going to improve my mood. Getting drunk inevitably leads to doing stupid things. Things like... well, Taylor. With Natalie once again hanging all over him, I don't think I have to worry about _that_ , but I should probably still stay relatively sober.

Looking around at all the party guests, I really start to feel like the odd man out. Okay, not _everyone_ else here is paired off, but there are enough happy married couples to make me feel pretty sick to my stomach. Then there's Carrick. He seems to be the only person who has even noticed my return to the party.

“Hey,” he says, flopping down into a lawn chair next to the one I've decided to make my home for the night. “Haven't seen your pretty face in a while.”

My only reply is an eye roll.

“Seriously, though... I missed you around here. Tulsa kinda sucks when you're gone.”

I sigh. I know I'm being unfair to Carrick right now, taking my anger with Taylor out on him. I don't quite meet his eyes, but I at least manage to look in his general direction and reply, “Yeah, well... I missed you, too. I'm sorry I haven't been around.”

He just shrugs. “Hey, I know you had a concert to do. No big deal. How did it go, by the way?”

“Oh, the _concert_ went well...”

“But?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “The concert went well, but I'm guessing something else didn't.”

Before I can stop myself, I've glanced in Taylor's direction. He's waving around a sparkler like he doesn't have a care in the world, like our fight didn't happen at all. To him, it probably didn't.

“Something happened with Taylor,” Carrick states.

I sigh. “I really, really don't want to talk about it.”

Carrick nods, but I can tell he wants to ask more. He won't, though. He knows when not to push my buttons, unlike certain other people. If I don't want to talk yet, then I won't have to. I can just sit here and finish my drink, content in the knowledge that Carrick is with me if I need him.

And I definitely need him.

Taylor seems to have suddenly remembered that I exist, and now he's walking over here, a lit sparkler in each hand. Is he really going to offer me fireworks as a peace offering? I have a feeling that's exactly his plan. As he approaches, he plasters a huge fake smile on his face and holds a sparkler out toward me like a child.

“Come on,” he says, practically bouncing up and down. “You've got to join the party.”

“I don't feel like it,” I reply, not caring that I sound just as childish as Taylor.

“Please?” He asks, and when he gets no further response from me, he turns to Carrick. “How about you?”

Carrick shakes his head. “Nah, I think we're about to leave.”

That's news to me, but I'm not going to argue with him. The further from Taylor I can get, the better. Carrick takes my empty cup and tosses it in the trash can a few feet away, then stands up and offers me a hand. It's just a friendly gesture to anyone else who's watching, but I know to the three of us it means a lot more than that.

So I take his hand.

“Alright,” Taylor replies, taking a few steps back. “I guess I'll see you guys later or something... maybe at the studio in a few days...”

No one's really paying attention to us, so I grip Carrick's hand tightly and keep it firmly in mine until we reach my truck. I'm reluctant to let go of it even then. Just being this close to him makes me wonder why I've ignored him so much lately. I need him near me.

I need _him_.


	43. Bachelor Pad

Carrick doesn't question me as I drive back to my apartment. I didn't even ask how he got to the party or if he wanted to go back to my place before I started driving, but he hasn't complained yet, so I guess this is okay with him. 

I know our little encounter with Taylor wasn't so bad. It could have been a lot worse, but it's just proof that Taylor doesn't get it. He runs at the first sign of trouble, and then pretends nothing is wrong. Ostriches could take lessons in burying their heads in the sand from him. Even though he _has_ to know that I'm not happy with him right now, he still treats me as though nothing is wrong. Sure, we need to keep up some kind of front in public, but I know that's not what Taylor was trying to do. 

He honestly thought we could just brush off that fight like it didn't happen.

Carrick doesn't run away, though, and he doesn't push me, either. He hasn't said a single word since we started driving, unless you count the way he's softly singing along with the radio. His singing voice is so beautiful that I'm tempted to just drive around in circles so I can listen to him all night. At some point, I'm pretty sure he would notice what I was doing, though.

He doesn't say anything, though. Not a single word, until we've pulled into the parking garage and I'm showing him into the apartment.

“So, this is your bachelor pad, huh?”

I let out a chuckle, holding the door open for him. “Yeah, something like that. It's not really as cool as that sounds.”

Carrick waits until the door closes behind me and then reaches for my arms, pulling me closer to him. “But you're happy here? I mean, at least relatively speaking?”

“Relatively speaking?” I ask. “Relatively speaking, moving out of my house is preferable to, I dunno, a root canal. Or finding out Taylor and Natalie have made up.”

“Is that what's got you supposed upset? The way they were acting tonight?” He asks, running his hands up and down my arms.

I shrug. “No, not really. I mean, not just tonight. We had this... this really nice trip, you know? We shared a room, we had fun... and then she's right there at the airport, with her perfect wife and family act. And I had no clue. No warning.”

“What would a warning have done for you?” Carrick asks.

I shrug him and his question off and head for the kitchen to fix myself another drink. I had the fantastic forethought to pick up a few cheap bottles of vodka during my shopping trip, and I plan to put one of them to use right now. As for Carrick's question, I don't know. I don't know what difference it would have made if Taylor had told me Natalie was coming back home. It still would have happened, whether I'd known about it or not.

So why am I so damn angry about it?

“Because he lied to me,” I mumble, still pouring vodka into my cup. A little louder, I repeat, “He lied to me. He had plenty of chances to tell me about what was going on with Natalie. I even caught him texting her, and he said he was just checking on the kids. It wasn't a total lie, but there was so much he left out... so much that would have changed how I felt, how close to him I let myself get. That's why it makes me angry.”

Carrick stares at me for a moment, like he's letting my words soak in, and then he nods. I hadn't even put it all into so many words in my own thoughts before, so it feels better just to know that's why I'm angry. It doesn't take much of that rage out of my system, but perhaps just a little bit of it has dissipated. I offer my drink to Carrick, because right now, he looks like he needs it even more than I do.

Carrick takes a long drink then sits the cup down on the counter and pulls up a bar stool. That puts him a little closer to my level and he stares at me for a moment before speaking. “I guess that makes sense. It's not that you thought he was going to really leave her for you, right?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “Not that I want him to stay with her, but... I mean, he's my fucking brother.”

“Right. But if you'd known the truth before you guys did whatever you did while you were gone, you would have behaved differently.”

I nod, and realization dawns on me. “He manipulated me.”

“Maybe he did,” Carrick says with a tiny shrug. “Who knows what's going on in his mind. Maybe he did it on purpose, maybe he didn't. I'm not making excuses for him; I just can't say for sure that he knew what effect withholding that information would have.”

“Please don't make excuses for him.”

“I just said I'm not,” Carrick replies, but he doesn't sound angry. “I'm just saying. I honestly don't know what the fuck is going on in Taylor's brain, and frankly, I don't really want to know.”

“Couldn't be any scarier than what's going on in mine.”

“I don't think your brain is scary,” Carrick replies, reaching across the counter to grasp my hands. “You're just... a little lost right now. Floundering, if you will.”

I raise an eyebrow and smirk. “I'm a fish?”

“You're a smartass.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” I reply. It's my standard, admittedly smartass, answer to that sort of statement and it rolls off my tongue without a thought. It's usually good for a laugh or an eye roll. Not this time, though.

“Yeah,” Carrick replies, giving my hands a squeeze. “I do.”

The intensity and honesty in his voice scares me a little, and I have to do something to deflect. I pry my hands from his and take a big gulp of the drink I offered him. After wiping a few stray drops of vodka from my lips, I give him a smirk. “So, you want the grand tour of my bachelor pad?”

Carrick returns the smirk. “How about we start with the bedroom?”

“Can we finish with it too?”

He just chuckles and hops down off the bar stool. That's enough of an answer for me, so I waste no time at all reaching for his arm and practically dragging him toward the bedroom. It's not really worth showing off right now; there's no real grand tour at all. Just me, a bed I didn't bother to make this morning and a pile of clothes spilling out of a suitcase. 

Carrick doesn't seem to notice any of that stuff, though. He uses my own grip on his arm to pull me closer to him, wrapping his free arm around my waist. He buries his head in my hair and mumbles, “Missed you so much, Zac.”

“I missed you, too... I was only gone for a few days, though.”

“Maybe,” he replies, pulling back and brushing my hair out of my face. “But it feels like you're still gone. You're right here in front of me and I still miss you. I'm still trying to reach you and you're just outside of my grasp.”

I nod, but I can't find any actual words for him. I know he means because of Taylor. I've been so wrapped up in Taylor that I won't let in the guy who's actually right here and willing. It's not fair to him, and I have no excuses for it. 

Maybe I can fix it now, though. For tonight, I hope a little physical attention is enough to let him know I really am right here in front of him.

I wrap my arms tightly around Carrick's waist and drag him toward the bed, not caring that I have to walk backwards to get us there. I'll be lucky if I don't fall and kill us both, especially considering the way Carrick is undressing me as we walk. This is not my most graceful moment at all, but I don't care. It's clumsy, but unhurried. We've got all the time and privacy we need, after all. Carrick starts shedding his own clothes once I run into the bed and somehow manage to fall back onto it without injuring myself. I can't guarantee that it was remotely sexy, but I guess it doesn't matter. Unlike so much of what I did with Taylor, this doesn't seem to be fueled by lust. It's just... need. A need that goes so much deeper than just wanted to get naked with him.

Although the nakedness isn't bad either.

Once we're both completely naked, though, things seem to slow down. His hands run gently up and down my sides as we kiss almost lazily. When his hand finally finds my cock, he's soft and gentle, but I don't mind. Any other time, I probably would accuse him of trying to tease me but if this lasts all night, I wouldn't complain at all.

After a few minutes, his hand begins to creep backwards. He pulls back from kissing me to give me a curious stare, as if he's asking for permission or making sure I'm okay.

“There's... I've...” I stutter out, suddenly feeling very embarrassed about admitting to the purchase I made earlier. Finally, I manage to mumble, “In the bag by the bathroom door.”

Carrick raises an eyebrow, but follows my directions. Moments later, he returns to the bed with a tiny bottle of lube in his hand.

“Planning something, were ya?” He asks, chuckling softly as he coats his fingers with the sticky stuff.

I can feel myself blushing. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

“Zac...” he mumbles, sliding his hand between my legs, just barely massaging. “You sure you wanna go there tonight?”

I nod. With his fingers this close, but not yet inside me, it really does feel like he's teasing me. I know he wants to make sure I'm ready, though. But I am. We might have taken turns when we fooled around before, experimenting with nearly everything else but actual penetration, but right now I really just want his dick inside me.

So much for not minding if we took things slow, I guess.

I should probably be ashamed of how little time and effort it takes him to get me prepared. It's not like I've had _that_ much sex lately, but... well, that's a line of thought I'd like to avoid right now. I should be focusing only on Carrick, the beautiful boy above me, slicking his own cock with lube and moaning.

“You sure you're ready?” He asks, just barely pressing the tip of his dick against me.

“Ugh, yes,” I reply, rolling my hips up just to prove my point. He doesn't slide that far into me, but it's enough to make him moan again.

After taking a moment to steady himself, he pushes the rest of the way in, until we're as close as we can possibly get, my legs tangling around his in a pathetic attempt to get him even closer. If we were any closer together, we'd just be one person. Then again, with the way he seems to read my mind and always know what I need from him, we might as well be.

We fall into an easy rhythm, slow and gentle, like everything else we've done tonight. Can we just stay this way forever? Seriously. I would not be opposed to that at all, even though I know how unrealistic it is.

And as soon as I admit to myself that it has to end, I feel that end drawing near.

Carrick's breathing is getting shallow, and I recognize that. I recognize these beautiful moans falling from his mouth. I know he's close. I snake my hand down between us and wrap it around my dick, not really putting that much effort into my strokes because I have a feeling I'm going to come anyway. I could probably get off without even touching myself, just watching Carrick come undone above me. As it is, I'm just trying to time my strokes just right so that when he comes, I'm right there with him.

And I am.

My free hand claws at the sheets as I feel it wash over me. Carrick shakes, his eyes struggling to stay open but ultimately failing as he lets out this sound that starts as a moan but finishes as a whimper. It's unlike anything I've ever heard from him before, but there's no precedent for what we've just done. This is new, the two of us together like this. I didn't realize that until right now, as he comes to rest on top of me, still panting.

This was our first time. 

I wasn't nervous at all, I suppose because it wasn't really _my_ first time. This is what first times should feel like. Like the sort of thing that's supposed to happen and never stop.

Carrick lays on top of me for a while before finally rolling over and sighing. With little more than a grunt and a wave of my arm, I point him toward the bathroom shelf where I keep my towels. He returns a moment later, handing the towel to me after he wipes all traces of me from his stomach. It takes a little more effort to clean myself up, and in the end, I enlist Carrick's help in just totally removing the top sheet. Who the fuck uses a top sheet anyway?

Once our mess is cleaned up, relatively speaking, we climb back into bed. We're still both completely naked, but if he doesn't care, neither do I. It's July in Tulsa. It's too damn hot for clothes. We curl up together above the covers, and that's all the warmth I need to get me through the night. Carrick kisses my forehead and I let out a contented sigh.

“You still miss me?” I ask.

“Nope,” he replies, nuzzling his face into my hair.

And for once, I don't miss him, either. I don't miss anything or anyone right now.


	44. Business

The first time I wake up, I'm vaguely aware that there's a body wrapped around mine, shamelessly spooning me. Even in my still sleepy state, it only takes me a moment to realize it's Carrick. Since he's moved here, it feels like we've spent more nights sleeping together than we have apart. I know that isn't really true, but that's how familiar the feeling of his body next to mine is. He's so comfortable that I fall back to sleep easily, even though I'm sure it must be fairly late in the morning, if the sunlight streaming in the blinds I forgot to close is anything to judge by.

The second time I wake up, I'm alone, but it only takes me a moment to smell breakfast. Well, food. I can't quite identify what I'm smelling, but it's definitely food, and that's good enough for me. Waking up to a home cooked breakfast courtesy of Carrick is becoming a pretty familiar feeling, too. I should probably feel guilty for letting him wait on me so much but I can honestly admit that I don't. With everything else that's going on in my life lately, I'm willing to indulge myself in one tiny way, and that way happens to be Carrick's delicious cooking.

I follow my nose to the kitchen and find exactly what I expected to see—Carrick, hovering over my stove in nothing but his tight jeans. It's a very, very welcome sight, and I shamelessly stare for a moment before walking the rest of the way into the room.

“Morning,” I say as I scan the refrigerator for something non-alcoholic to drink. Mountain Dew it is.

“So it is,” Carrick replies. “I had a feeling the smell of bacon would wake you up.”

“Bacon?” I echo, letting the refrigerator door slam shut. 

Carrick chuckles. “Among other things, but yes, I did make bacon for you. I had to get kind of creative, so we're having breakfast burritos. I'm surprised you had any vegetables at all. And an avocado?”

“I wanted guacamole,” I reply with a shrug.

He nods as if that explains everything. If I wanted guacamole, why didn't I just buy it? Clearly I should not be trusted to do my own grocery shopping, but at least Carrick found it amusing. To Kate, I was sure it was just another sign that I was incapable of being a functioning adult. Maybe she was right.

Because, as we've already established, I'm not a functioning adult, I stay out of Carrick's way while he finishes cooking the burritos. Like everything else he cooks, they're delicious, and we both shamelessly go back for seconds. I don't know about him, but for me it's certainly a delaying tactic. I know we're both supposed to go into the studio today, and I really wish we could just stay here all day. Or forever.

But we can't.

All too soon, we're tossing our plates in the sink and heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day. My one minor victory is convincing Carrick to shower with me. It takes just as much time as showering separately and involves a lot more cuddling than getting clean, but that's why I call it a victory. I think he catches onto my plan to delay the inevitable when I give up on washing entirely and just lean against the shower wall, my arms wrapped tightly around him. 

Naturally, he doesn't let me get away with it, and it's only minutes before he's dragging me out the door.

I'm too lazy to walk and I like the possibility of making a quick getaway if needed, so I decide to drive to the studio. Carrick grumbles about the waste of gas and I just call him a hippie. It is a pretty short distance to drive. Oh well. Might as well get there as quickly as I can and get it over with, like ripping off a bandaid.

I park my truck behind the studio and my heart drops when I see Taylor's car is there. I was really hoping he was running late. Better yet, maybe he just wouldn't show up at all. Late was always a distinct possibility, and it would have given me time to hide or something. Of course I can't be that lucky.

Carrick has to practically push me out of my truck, but finally, I get my feet to work and carry me into the office. There's not a lot of noise, but just enough to let me know there's something of a crowd around. That's good. I like crowds. The more people I can put between me and Taylor, the better. I know I'm being irrational, though. We're supposed to be working. I _can't_ avoid him, and Carrick can't even stay by my side, because he's supposed to be recording. We're barely in the door before he's abandoned me and I have no choice but to walk into the office portion of the building and face my brother.

At least he doesn't look up from his computer at first. I consider that a small win for me, and I throw myself into my desk chair. Once my computer has booted up, I dive into the pile of email I have waiting for me. There's nothing really interesting, but it's one of those tasks I have to do everyday or they just keep coming and coming until I'm drowning in a sea of fan letters.

I'm about halfway through the day's mail when Taylor clears his throat.

“So, umm... don't shoot the messenger or anything, but I was told to ask if and when you were going to go back and get some more of your stuff.”

I blink. Well, _that_ didn't take long. Soon I'm sure Kate will be throwing the rest of my things into storage somewhere. 

“I mean, I don't care, but Nat said to ask, so...” Taylor says, rolling his eyes.

“Kate passed a message for me through Nat?” I ask, because I can't even begin to comprehend what's happening beyond that strange fact.

Taylor just shrugs. “She mentioned it, I guess. Just that you still had some stuff there that you needed to get. Like I said, don't shoot the messenger.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble, then turn back to my computer screen.

It still absolutely amazes me that Taylor can carry on such a seemingly normal conversation with me, as though nothing else has happened between us. I almost envy his ability to divide his brain up into such neat little boxes, but then... I don't. It's like he has no emotions at all, and as nice as that sounds at times... I can't help thinking that it must be really miserable.

So why doesn't he _seem_ miserable?

“Look, Zac... it's none of my business what's going on with you and Kate. I'm sorry I even mentioned it.”

Did Taylor actually just apologize for something? I have to replay his words a few times in my mind to be sure I heard him correctly. There's got to be a catch. I turn and raise an eyebrow at him. “Is this the part where you remind me that it's also none of my business what's going on with you and Natalie?”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, I wasn't going to... I mean, yeah. I guess it isn't, but I think that ought to be pretty clear by now.”

“If you and me are...” I trail off and shake my head. “If we're going to do what we did, then yeah, I think it _is_ my business.”

“Does that mean I get to have an opinion on you and Carrick?” Taylor asks, a look somewhat akin to amusement on his face.

Well, he's got me there. I _know_ I'm being hypocritical and demanding too much of an emotional connection from Taylor. I'm just expecting him to feel the same way that I do. Obviously he doesn't. I can't force it.

I shake my head. “Just... just forget it. Go fuck a dozen other people, too. See if I care.”

“You will, though,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I know you will and... and that's okay. I get it.”

“Do you?” I reply, scooting my chair closer to his. “Do you _really_ get it, Tay?”

He stares at me blankly for a moment, then nods. “I think I do, actually. I don't understand it... any of it... but, yeah, I can clearly see you have feelings for me.”

“Well, give the man a prize.” I'm not sure where this sarcasm is coming from. Can I blame the breakfast burritos?

Taylor sighs and runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time since perhaps the wedding, I can see him struggling. I can see him hurting. It scares me a little, but it also makes me scoot closer to him in the vain hope that I can somehow take away his pain. 

“Tay...” I began, unsure what I should say next, so I just trail off.

“You get how fucked up this is, right?” He asks, then chuckles. “But what about my life isn't? Figures I'd end up... well.”

“Well what?” I ask.

“With you.”

With me? _With_ me? Of all the things he is, that's not really one of them. Is it?

There are so many things I want to say know, but all the words just die on my tongue. I can't even imagine how dumb I must look, just staring at Taylor all wide-eyed. It doesn't really matter, though, since he's holding a staring contest with the floor. 

“Tay... are you... I mean, what exactly are you...”

“It doesn't matter, does it?” He mumbles. “You've got Carrick. I'm stuck... I've got Nat. And then there's your divorce, and, oh yeah, we're brothers. So what does it matter?”

“It matters,” I reply, “because I need to know. I need the truth, Tay.”

“The truth about what?”

“About us,” I say. “About what you feel.”

He gives me another look, and again, I can see the pain and the struggle. He doesn't need to say it. I know what he feels, because it's what I feel too. I'm certain of it now. I want to hear it, but I don't want to hurt him any more. At a loss for what else to do, I scoot myself closer still, closing the gap between us and pressing my lips to his.

Taylor tenses at first, but a second later he relaxes and lets it happen. I only pull back when I hear footsteps. They're a high-pitched _tick tick tick_ , not the deep shuffle of any of the guys, and that realization makes my stomach turn. Sure enough, the second I come to my senses and begin scooting back to my desk, Natalie appears in the doorway.

“Oh, Tay,” she says, tugging a very unhappy looking Viggo into the room behind her. “You're not busy, are you?”

He blinks, his eyes shifting to me for a split second before landing on Natalie. “Umm... no. Not at the moment.”

“Great,” she replies, smiling widely and nudging Viggo further into the room. “This little guy just does not want to help Mommy with the shopping. Do you think you could watch him for a while?”

“Sure,” he replies with a sigh that Natalie chooses to ignore.

As she ushers Viggo into the room, I can't help thinking that he really doesn't look all that upset. Sure, he looks unhappy, but it's not as though he's throwing a fit. A part of me thinks that somehow Natalie has planned this, but for what purpose, I don't know. I don't really want to understand how her brain works.

She takes her time saying goodbye to Taylor and I have to turn my back on them to ignore the entire charade. Now that I know how he feels, it sickens me even more to watch the act I know they're both putting on. After she finally tires of saying goodbye a million different ways, Natalie turns to leave, barely even glancing in my direction. There's something strange in her eyes, but when isn't there? 

She didn't see us, did she? Surely not. I can't imagine she would be so calm about that, but again, I never claimed to understand her. The one thing I can say with certainty about her is that I don't like her. At all.

And I really, really hope she didn't see us kiss.

Taylor doesn't seem bothered at all, already engrossed in an animated conversation with Viggo about what they were shopping for. It hardly even seems like the conversation we had was real when Taylor has switched gears so quickly. Although I could see the cracks in the walls he's built, the walls are still there. He's still found a way to lock up his feelings and get back to business as usual.

A tiny part of me wishes I could, too.


	45. Cold

We didn't get much done in the studio that day, thanks in no small part to the fact that Taylor spent most of the day babysitting. It was obvious that Isaac and everyone else was just as annoyed as I was, although perhaps for different reasons. To make up for the lost day, we worked extra hard for the next few, leaving me precious little time to spend with Carrick. Even when we finally did decide to take a day off, I didn't have any energy to spare. I let myself sleep in late and do nothing more than sit on my couch, eating potato chips, playing video games and occasionally texting Carrick.

The only way the day could improve would be if he was _actually_ here.

It's complicated, though. Isn't my life always complicated? I sound cliché even putting it that way, but it's true. Carrick makes me feel safe and wanted. Taylor makes me feel... all the other things I expect to feel in a relationship, even though we aren't really in one. Of course, I do want Carrick, too. I want them _both_ , in such different ways that I don't know how I could ever choose.

Maybe I just won't. Is that selfish? Of course it is.

My first instinct is to talk to Carrick about this conundrum. Then I realize that I can't. He could help me with any other scenario, but I can't ask him to help me choose between him and Taylor. That's just stupid. So I don't ask. I just continue a series of meaningless texts about the songs we've both been working on. I wonder if any of his are about me, but I don't ask about that, either.

I don't ask or say anything that really matters, because I just don't know how.

Maybe that makes me a coward. I think I'm okay with being a coward. Cowards don't get hurt as much as brave people who take risks and put themselves out there. I don't know that I would undo everything that's happened with Taylor just to avoid the pain of it all, but... maybe. Why not? Over a decade of loving him from a slight distance didn't hurt all that bad. I was relatively happy. I had a career, friends, even a wife and kids. Granted, the marriage wasn't all that great, but I'm sure my life could have been a lot worse. Somehow.

I just can't seem to think of _how_.

After several hours spent on the couch, I finally give in to the need for food. I don't really want to leave the little cocoon of blankets and video games that I've built for myself here, but my stomach is growling, so off to the kitchen I go.

I'm halfway through putting together a sandwich when the buzzer by the door goes off. That's strange. Who would be visiting me? Carrick didn't mention anything about coming by today, so I'm at a complete loss. I abandon my sandwich for the moment and walk to the door.

With my hand on the button, I speak into the little intercom system, “Hello?”

“Zac,” a voice says and I quickly identify it as Natalie. “I was just running a few errands and I told Kate I would drop off some of the laundry she did for you. Care to buzz me in? This basket is getting heavy.”

It's a good thing the intercom system doesn't have any sort of video screen. That way, Natalie can't see the way I roll my eyes at her. She _would_ volunteer to do something nice, then complain about it. That is absolutely her way. 

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh, pressing the button that would allow her in. “Come on up.”

A nicer person would have volunteered to come downstairs and relieve her of her burden. I'm obviously not a nicer person, and where Natalie is concerned, I'm okay with that. I return to the kitchen to finish making my sandwich while she makes her way through the lobby and up to my apartment. It's on the top floor, so I have plenty of time to panic while I wait for her. I hate that I can let my brother's petite little wife scare me so much, but she does. I just don't trust her and I never have. She's never _truly_ given me any reason to distrust her, aside from stealing Taylor away, but I still can't shake the feeling that she's up to no good.

I'm just grabbing some potato chips to go with my sandwich when there's a knock at the door. For a brief moment, I consider not answering it, but of course that's crazy. I have to answer; she already knows I'm here. I set the bag of chips down and make my way to the door. 

Sure enough, when I open it, there's Natalie with a heaping basket full of neatly folded laundry. I try to grab it from her, but before I can wrap my hand around the basket, she barges right into the apartment. I can only stand by the door, gaping at her as she scurries into the apartment and puts the laundry basket down on my couch.

“Umm,” I say. “Thanks for bringing my laundry over?”

She spins back around to face me. “You know, I'm surprised Kate's still doing your chores for you. Doesn't really seem fair of you to make her.”

“I didn't make her,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “I just... hadn't gone back to get the rest of my stuff. She knew I was gonna come get more of my clothes when I had a chance.”

“Well,” Natalie says with a shrug. “Still doesn't seem fair.”

“She could have sent them over still dirty. Or not sent them at all. And _you_ didn't have to volunteer to bring them.”

Natalie smirks. “Oh, but Zac... I did.”

My stomach falls to the floor. I don't know what that smirk means, but I know it can't possibly be anything good. All I can do is stare blankly at her, hoping she doesn't waste any more time before explaining herself.

“See, you're lucky I was there when Kate decided to do your laundry,” Natalie continues. “I just stopped by, on a whim, and of course I helped her. Couldn't let her do all that work for you by herself, especially when she shouldn't have been doing it in the first place.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay. So I'm a horrible person for making her do my laundry when we're not together anymore. Is that all?”

Natalie shakes her head, that smirk still on her lips. “Oh, no. That's far from all. While I was sorting out clothes for her, I found a little something in one of your pockets.”

And that's it. That's the end of my life. I don't even have to guess what it is she found. I know, without question, that it's the pictures. 

Without another word, she pulls them from her pocket and waves them around. I don't need to move closer to her to know I'm right. I don't want to see them again. The images are already committed to my memory, and I have a feeling that now they're committed to Natalie's, too. She's smart enough to know what she's looking at—first, the kisses, then my head disappearing from the frame while Taylor's falls back against the wall in an expression of pure ecstasy. Anyone would be able to interpret that.

So why isn't the expression on her face one of disgust?

“Nat...” I manage to gasp out. “I... I don't...”

But that's all I can say. Words completely fail me as I stare at her. Her lips are still turned up in a smirk, but her eyes are full of ice. I don't know what any of it means.

“There's nothing to try to explain,” she finally says. “I'm not dumb, Zachary. I know Taylor sleeps around. As long as he comes home to me, I can deal. And you? Well... let's just say that I'm not surprised. I always knew there was something wrong with you.”

I can only stare dumbly at her. I _want_ to object to everything she's said, but I can't. It's all true. 

“And I'm definitely not surprised that you were dumb enough to leave a trail of evidence,” she adds.

I take a cautious step toward her, my hands stretched out in front of me, pleading. “Nat... just, just give me the pics, okay?”

She throws her head back and laughs. Actually _laughs_. And that's when I go from scared to terrified.

“Oh no,” she says, tucking the strip of photos inside her shirt where she knows I won't go searching for them. “I'm keeping these. Call it... an insurance policy. One toe over the line, Zachary, just _one_ wrong glance at Taylor, and... well, these photos won't stay our little secret.”

“Are you... are you blackmailing me?” I ask.

“I suppose you could call it that,” she replies with a shrug. “I'm just doing what I have to do to keep my hubby. You two have always been too close, and now that I know _why_ , it's time to put a stop to it. So if you're so determined to divorce my best friend, I'm just warning you. You want that divorce to go smoothly, don't you?”

I nod dumbly, unable to believe any of this is happening. I knew Natalie was bad... I didn't realize she was actually _evil_.

“I can only imagine what would happen if your _wife_ saw these pictures... you really think you'd be allowed to ever see your children again? What if the court saw these?”

“B-but... but that would hurt Taylor, too,” I reply, hoping against hope that Nat can see reason.

She just shrugs. She fucking _shrugs._ “We've had a good run. Ten years, four kids... I could get one hell of a divorce settlement out of him if it came to that. But it won't, will it? Because you're not going to touch him again. Are you?”

I shake my head. It doesn't matter if I'm telling her the truth or not, and I truly don't know if I am. What else can I say? If I defy her, I don't know what she might do, but it would be bad. Very bad.

“Good,” she says with a smile. “I knew you'd see things my way. I'm trying to look out for you, don't you see? You want this to stay a secret, I'm sure. And it will. _If_ it ends now.”

Twisted as her logic is, I can't argue with it. Arguing will get me nowhere with someone so resolute and so... cold.

That's the only word for Natalie. Cold. I see now, without a doubt, that she doesn't want Taylor. She wants to be Mrs. Taylor Hanson. Failing that, she wants him to hurt. She's got his name, his children, his money... she'll keep those, even if she can't keep him. It's all so clear, and I don't know why Taylor doesn't see it. But maybe he does. And maybe that's why he feels so trapped by her. Because he is, more than I ever realized until this very moment.

“Good,” she says, seeing that I'm not going to resist. She takes a few steps forward and pats me on the chest. “I'm glad we had this talk. I think we understand each other a little better now.”

“Yeah,” I choke out. “I think we do.”

“Well then, I'll see you later. Try not to make Kate do all your chores for you from now on, okay?”

Before I can reply to that, she's out the door. I glance around in vain, hoping that somehow she's dropped the pictures. If I had them... if I could destroy them... it would only be her word against ours. No one would really believe her, would they?

But they would if she had the pictures. And she does.

I stare at the door, wishing that this entire afternoon had been a dream. But it hasn't. I've long thought there was no way that I could really choose between Taylor and Carrick. Now I realize, as stare at the door Natalie has just walked out of, I don't have to. The choice has been made for me. And somehow, that doesn't make me feel better at all.


	46. Distance

I spend the next few days hiding in my apartment. What else is there for me to do? I don't trust myself around Taylor at all now, not after what he very nearly told me. And now that I know... I can't get near him again or I'll lose everything.

It isn't fair.

It's not as though I really thought that people would be okay with this thing between us, but I guess the way Carrick so readily accepted my feelings for Taylor spoiled me a little. I never stopped to worry about what would happen if other people found out, and now the worst person possible knows. Of all the people who could possibly find out, Natalie is easily the one who stands to gain the most from it.

Maybe I should tell Taylor. Shouldn't he know how crazy his wife is? But no. I don't see what that would accomplish at all. She's going to do what she wants and get what she wants no matter what. All these years, I don't think anyone has believed me when I made little comments about her. Hell, sometimes I wasn't even sure I was right about how bad Natalie really was. As it turns out, she's so much worse. So, so much worse.

And that's why I can't tell him. Because whatever she's planning, she'll find a way to make it happen. She won't stop.

So I have to. I have to stop this thing between me and Taylor.

When he texts me, I almost throw my phone across the room just from the shock. Once I come to my senses, though, I realized that he's only asking me to come into the office to rehearse. We don't have any concerts for a while, but we're clearly woefully out of practice, so I guess I have to go. 

It's almost laughable how little progress we've made on this new album. Somehow, we're supposed to go into the studio this fall, and I just don't know how we're going to be ready. When I think back over what's happened this summer, though, it's not really surprising that songwriting has taken a bit of a backseat. I don't remember any other time that we've sunk this low, though. Even in the darkest depths of our fight with the record label, we kept writing. But I think we did it think as a subconscious _fuck you_ to them. They hated everything we wrote, but we weren't going to stop. 

Now, though... now it's different. Now we're only battling each other and our own demons. 

I'm not ready to throw in the towel and I hope Tay and Ike aren't either, but it feels like I might as well be learning how to write and play all over again. That's how out of practice I am. Just sitting at my drums feels awkward. They used to be like an extension of my body, a part of me, but now nothing feels right. If I could crawl out of my own skin, I would. I couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable in anyone else's than I do in my own right now.

“Zac? Are you even listening to me at all?”

I blink and watch as Isaac's face comes into focus. I wonder how long I've been staring off into space. Judging by the frustration on his face, quite a while. Oops.

“Yeah,” I reply, then sigh when he only glares more. “No, I wasn't. Sorry.”

“Didn't think you were. I'm going to go get lunch, since we're getting fuckall done here.”

Before I can protest, he slams his notebook down and stands up to leave. He's angry with me, I know he is, and he has every right to be. I haven't contributed a damn thing to the song we've been working on all morning and, frankly, the song sucks. I don't know how to fix it, though. I don't know how to fix _anything_. So I just can't find it in myself to even try.

Once Isaac is gone, it's just me and Taylor in the room and that's no good at all. I mumble something about how I need to get lunch, too, and I don't even _consider_ inviting him along. I just can't. I can't be around him at all. 

It's not that I don't trust myself around Taylor, although I really, really don't. It's Natalie.

He follows me out of the studio, and I realize that I'm just not going to get off the hook easily. It's not like me to avoid him, after all. I've spent the better part of my life clinging pathetically to Taylor. Now I'm practically running away. Even someone as typically clueless as him would notice the difference. Especially after everything he came so close to admitting the other day...

It's a cruel twist of fate that Natalie would give me this ultimatum now that I know how Taylor feels. I'm not sure why I expected anything else. My life is just that fucked up, and fate just loves fucking with me that way. After all, it decided the guy I wanted more than anything just _had_ to be my brother.

“Zac!” Taylor calls out, and I can hear his shuffling footsteps behind me, doing everything he can to catch up.

As much as I don't want to, my body just... stops. At the very sound of Taylor's voice, I'm frozen on the spot, even though I know I need to keep walking.

“Where are you going? I'm hungry, too, you know,” he says, his hand on my back making me jump. I didn't realize he was that close.

I sigh, not spinning around to face him. “I don't know. Just... away from here.”

“I thought you were going to lunch?” He asks, and I can practically hear his brow furrowing and his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“I am, I'm just...” I sigh again. “Just let me go, okay?”

Taylor doesn't. Of course he doesn't. He uses the strength I so often forget he has to spin me around and force me to look at him. “What the hell is your problem today, Zac? Are you stoned or something?”

 _That's_ where his mind goes? I guess it's a good thing. I could lie and say that I am, and leave here looking like an asshole, but at least not having had to tell him the truth. Somehow, though, I can't lie that much.

I shake my head. “No, I'm... I'm just not feeling good today, alright?”

“Alright,” Taylor replies, but he doesn't quite look like he buys it. “Are you still going to lunch, though? Can I tag along?”

“No,” I practically snap, pulling back from his grasp on my arm. “I mean, I just... I'm just gonna go home. I don't think that's... such a good idea.”

“ _Lunch_ together isn't a good idea?” Taylor asks, raising an eyebrow. “What, afraid you won't be able to resist bending me over the table?”

“ _What?!_ ” I gasp out. “Tay... that's... just let me go, alright?”

For a second, he looks angry. But then that fades way and that vulnerable look I saw the other day returns. “I just thought... it meant something. What we talked about. What I told you. I thought it meant something.”

I sigh. “It did, Tay. It's just... it's just not that simple. It doesn't _fix_ anything.”

“Yeah, fine,” he snaps. “Just go, then. Run off to Carrick.”

If I didn't know better — and I'm not sure that I do — I would say that he sounds jealous. Is it possible? Taylor Hanson... jealous of someone? It just seems completely impossible, yet here it is, happening.

“I'm not... I'm not _running off_ to him. I'm just leaving here. I just need to not be here right now.”

Taylor's eyes stay narrow. “Why does it feel like you're just trying to get away from me?”

Because I am.

“You are, aren't you?” Taylor asks. “Why? What did I do?”

I sigh. “You didn't _do_ anything.”

“So it was something I said?” He takes a step closer and instinctively I back away.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “It's just... this is what I need to do, okay? I can't explain it any more than that. I just need... _we_ just need... some distance.”

“Look,” Taylor says, reaching out and gently touching my arm. “I get it if you're still upset that I'm staying with Natalie. I know it... doesn't make a lot of sense, and I know you're going through a lot with Kate right now. And it will be good for you, I think, once it's over. But it's not... my life just isn't that simple. I can't just leave.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

And oh how I know. I may know, even more than he does, just how trapped he is. A part of me is screaming that I should tell him. That he needs to know what an evil, manipulative bitch his wife is. But surely he knows. Surely that's _why_ he always insists that he can't leave her. He's caught between a rock and a hard place, and even if I told him the awful truth about her, it wouldn't _change_ anything.

Knowing what she's done wouldn't magically make it possible for him to leave. And he doesn't need any more pain, anyway.

And that's why I can't tell him.

I pull away from his grasp yet again and take a few more backward steps away from him. “Just let me go, Tay. Everything will be... okay... I just need to go right now. We just need a little space.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

I'm sure he wants to fight more, but he can see that at least for the moment, I won't be persuaded. I'm not sure how long that will be the case, though. If anyone can break down my defenses, it's Taylor, and he knows it.

Before he can start to persuade me again, I turn on my heel and practically sprint out of the office. I have to put some real, physical distance between the two of us. If I can get away from him... if I can stay away enough to forget the way his touch feels... maybe I can do this. Maybe I can really end it. 

I _have_ to end it, I remind myself. Natalie made that clear enough; it's not a matter of if. It's a matter of what she'll do to us both if I don't.

As I get on my bicycle and ride back to my apartment, I have to keep reminding myself of that. With every second that passes and every yard farther from Taylor I get, I have to remind myself _why_ I'm putting this distance between us. It's to save our asses—his, especially. It's to save Kate from knowing what a horrible man she married and had children with. Selfishly, it's to save my own skin and keep everyone from hating me. They would hate Taylor, too, though. And he has so much more to lose if his marriage fell apart. He may not love Natalie—I'll never be convinced that he does—but I know he would crumble and fall apart under the weight of a divorce, especially under these particular circumstances. 

I can't let any of that happen. 

I know I'm just a pawn for Natalie, but I'll do what I can, what's still within my control. If I have any self control left at all, then I _have_ to use it to keep myself away from Taylor.


	47. Silence

When I get back to my apartment, I climb right back into bed. I don't even care that it's the middle of the day or that I really should be at work. I guess I am as childish as people say I am, because right now, all I want is to basically throw a tantrum. How awful is that? I really just don't care.

I just can't _do_ this.

I can't go through every day knowing that I can't ever touch Taylor again. I can't look at him standing three feet away and know that isn't enough distance. There just won't _ever_ be enough distance to make this okay. I could run away and hide out somewhere on the other side of the world, and it wouldn't be enough to make this feel right.

But I can't do that.

The music is the one fucking thing I still have in my life that makes sense, even if I can't actually remember the last time I sat down and wrote a song. If I gave that up... if I quit the band... I wouldn't even know who I was anymore. I wouldn't _be_ anyone. I would be lucky just to exist. 

So what can do I? I have no answers for myself, and that's why I just flop down on my bed and go back to sleep, as though I can just sleep the rest of my life away or wake up and discover this was just a nightmare.

It's always disorienting to sleep in the middle of the day. You'd think I would get used to it, since it's not like my life operates on any sort of normal, 9 to 5 schedule. But there are some things that just still seem to throw me off, and taking a long nap in the afternoon is definitely one of them. The sound of my phone ringing breaks through my dreams a few times, but I manage to ignore it and go back to sleep. When I finally do wake up, everything hurts and I have no idea what time it is until I roll over and reach for my phone, which is actually silent for once.

Five o'clock. Just in time for the dinner I have absolutely no appetite for.

Somehow, I manage to drag myself to the kitchen, but there's absolutely nothing there that sounds appealing to me right now. In the end, I settle for nothing more than just a beer. It's definitely not a balanced meal, but I don't care. Maybe it's melodramatic to say that it feels like my world is ending, because I _know_ things could be so much worse, but nutrition really isn't at the top of my priorities right now.

I flop down on the couch with my beer and flip on the television, but no channel holds my attention. It's like _nothing_ matters to me right now. I can't feel anything at all now that I know this thing with Taylor has to end. I might as well be watching a test pattern for all that I care about or even manage to process whatever show it is I've finally landed on. Even the beer I'm drinking tastes like it might as well be nothing more than water. I down it quickly and go back for a second, and I can't taste that one either. The third and fourth go down just as smoothly, and before I realize what I've done, the entire six pack is gone. I'm not drunk, but I'm not really _anything_ at all. No amount of alcohol could numb me more than real life has.

I'm lying in a heap on the couch, an arm and leg dangling off the side, when I hear my phone ring again. Ringing. A phone call, not a text. That could be important, but I can't really find it in myself to care. It's only the fact that it just won't stop that bothers me and convinces me to roll off the couch and make my way to my bedroom to see who could possibly be calling.

I should have known there was only one possibility. 

Carrick.

He never calls. I can't even remember the last time he called instead of just texting, and it's that little fact that convinces me to finally answer when he calls _again_ for what my phone tells me is the third time in a row.

“Hello?”

“Zac,” he breathes out, sounding relieved. “Where the hell are you?”

“I'm... in my apartment?”

“Well, obviously your phone still works, so...” he trails off with a nervous laugh, and I realize Carrick isn't making a social call. He's been put up to this, and I can guess who by.

“You talked to Taylor,” I say, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

There's a tiny pause on the line, and that's all the acknowledgment I need.

“Why? Why would you talk to him?”

“He called,” Carrick says. “He was just... he sounded worried about you, Zac. What the hell are you doing, huh? Running out on rehearsal?”

I sigh. I don't know what to say to him. I'm sure Taylor has already presented him with a dozen potential reasons for my behavior, and I just don't have the energy to go through the reasons why each and every one of them is wrong. I just _can't_. I'm really starting to think running away would be easier.

“Zac? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” I reply, because as much as I want to, I can't just lie to him. I can ignore him and avoid his questions, but if he presses the right buttons, I'll eventually tell Carrick everything.

And he always presses the right buttons.

“I'm coming over,” he says suddenly. “I'm bringing brownies. The good kind. We can eat them and talk or we can eat them and not talk, but I'm coming over and you're going to at least stare at my face for a couple hours.”

“I can think of worse things to stare at,” I admit, and it isn't really a joke, but Carrick laughs anyway.

“I'll be there in about twenty,” he says and hangs up before I can protest.

Not that I really want to protest. The stubborn part of me says I don't need Carrick to babysit me, but if I'm honest with myself, it's exactly what I want.

True to his word, Carrick arrives at my apartment in exactly twenty minutes. I've done nothing but stare at my phone since he ended the call, so I'm ready for it when the clock tells me twenty minutes are up and the buzzer by the door goes off. I buzz him up without even bothering to say anything into the intercom system first; not the safest move, really, but I know it's Carrick. I'm not worried. And so what if it was an ax murderer? I'm not sure I'd even put up a fight.

But it's not. It's Carrick, an aluminum foil covered plate in his hand and a worried frown on his face.

“You look like hell,” he says honestly, shoving the plate into my hand like it's some magic potion that will fix everything in my life.

If only.

We fall into a silent little routine as I let him into the apartment. Carrick follows me to the kitchen and uncovers the brownies while I dig a few sodas out of the refrigerator. I could go for a beer, too, but Mountain Dew just seems like the thing to drink with pot brownies. 

Carrick's brownies are a thing of beauty. I actually brace myself against the kitchen counter as I take the first bite, and I'm not even ashamed of the orgasmic moan I let out. These brownies are just that good. Carrick knows it. He just watches me with a satisfied smile on his face, letting me shamelessly scarf down two whole brownies before taking one for himself.

We've settled into the couch and made it halfway through the plate of brownies before Carrick speaks again.

“So, you gonna tell me what's up?”

“Mmm... maybe,” I reply. “You gonna tell Taylor?”

Carrick tilts his head to the side in contemplation. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, he's the reason you came to check on me. So I can only assume you're going to report back to him after you leave me.”

“No,” he replies. “I'm not. I mean, yeah, he called and told me you were freaking him out, but I checked on you because I care about you. He's just the reason I knew you needed me right now.”

I stare at him for a moment, as if I really need to consider his words to know if he's telling the truth. Of course he is. I can't think of a single time Carrick has lied to me in the five years I've known him. Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to stare at him. 

With a sigh, I finally say, “Yeah, okay. But you can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. Not even Taylor.”

“What if he needs to know?” Carrick asks.

“He probably does,” I admit, “but please don't tell him. I've got to deal with this on my own, or it'll just turn into an even bigger mess.”

Carrick raises an eyebrow and I realize I'm getting ahead of myself. With another long sigh, I try to figure out where to begin this awful story.

“Okay, well... when we were gone to that festival? Taylor and I did something really stupid. Well, it was mostly me. I gave him head in this photobooth while it took pics of us. And I kept the pics, but apparently I left them in a pair of jeans in the laundry at my—at the house.”

“Kate found them?”

I shake my head. “No. Natalie did. She was helping and... s-she found them, and...”

It sounds like I'm going to cry, but I'm not. I just can't get the words to come out of my mouth. All I can see in my mind is that awful, cold, _evil_ look on Natalie's face.

“She, umm... she basically said that if I wanted to be sure that no one else ever saw the pics, I would stay away from Taylor.”

There. I said it.

Carrick just stares at me for a moment, like he doesn't totally believe what I've said. I probably have lied to him once or twice, but why would I lie about something this awful? After a moment, he nods, like the meaning of my words is just sinking in.

“Okay... okay, that's fucked up. But like, you just have to get the pics, right? Problem solved.”

I shake my head. “What if she's made copies, though? And how am I going to get them? I could tell Taylor, but... I just feel like he doesn't need anything more to worry about.”

“Don't you think he ought to know he married a psycho bitch?”

“I think he knows,” I reply. “He just... doesn't care. Because marrying her was somehow better than the alternative. Or because our parents practically forced him to. And staying with her... he's decided that's better than the alternative, too. And if she's this psycho, it actually might be.”

Carrick nods again, a little more slowly this time. “Yeah... okay. There has to be _some_ way to stop her, though.”

“Or I could just stay away from Taylor... forever.”

“And how is that going to work? I mean, you're still in a band together.”

“It worked for over a decade,” I reply with a shrug. “I can be his brother and his bandmate without...”

I can't even finish the sentence because it isn't true. I can't—not without being little more than a shell of a person, just drifting through life without feeling _anything_ other than a desperate need for Taylor.

“So what do I do?” I ask, my voice barely above a pathetic whisper.

“I don't know,” Carrick says honestly. “But we'll figure something out. It'll be okay... somehow.”

I know he barely believes the words he's saying, but he knows they're what I need to hear. I don't quite believe them, either, but I desperately want to. With nothing more we can really say on the subject, we lapse into a comfortable silence again, curled up on the couch with what's left of his brownies.


	48. Push

It takes two more days for Carrick to finally nudge me out of my apartment. Okay, he practically has to push me—physically. But I know I can't ignore Isaac and Taylor's phone calls forever. The fact that Taylor actually cared enough to call kind of scared me. It made me wonder if he had any idea what was really going on. 

No. He couldn't.

The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that he needs to know. I don't like that realization, but that doesn't make it any less true. How can I possibly face something like this alone? Sharing it with Taylor means splitting the burden a little; maybe that way, neither of us will collapse under the weight of it.

But maybe we will. It's a risk I think I have to take.

All these thoughts keep swirling around my mind as I make my way to the studio with Carrick, and I still come to no real conclusions about what to do. Somehow, I do have to tell Taylor—I'm just not sure how. I'm glad Carrick is going to be at the office, too, even if we won't be working together. Just having him near will help. 

There's a good chance that I'm leaning on him way to much lately, but I really don't care. I _need_ him.

My one saving grace is that everyone is in the office today, so there's precious little time for Taylor and I to be alone. We have to get these demos laid down; we've been putting it off for too long. At this point, the next album is just some vague concept, this thing we know is going to happen at some point in the future, but god only knows when or how. The motivation to really make the album just isn't there right now, not for any of us. This is the least direction I think we've ever had—possibly even worse than the three years it took us to finish Underneath. At least then the one thing we had going for us was our drive to keep going. Now I'm not sure we even have that. I don't like it, and I really don't like the sinking feeling that a lot of it is my fault.

With none of us feeling especially creative, we decide just to focus on laying down some guide tracks for a few songs. That's easy enough; at this point in our careers, it's something we can just about do in our sleep. Nothing has to be perfect, or even all that good. We just have to get the basic idea of the song recorded. Guide tracks are definitely the best course of action on a day when we're clearly all none too happy about being in the studio.

We work all the way through to lunch without taking a single break. I'm actually surprised when one of our interns pokes his head cautiously through the door to let us know they're all ready to call in an order at Mexicali. When did it get so late? It feels like we just got here, and I can tell by the confused looks on their faces that Isaac and Taylor feel the same way. Maybe all we needed to feel normal again was to get back to our music.

But maybe not.

Things might feel normal right now, but I know that certain things will _never_ be normal again. 

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, my appetite is gone. I know I can't just not order lunch, though; that would draw too much unwanted attention. I rattle off my usual burrito order anyway, just to keep everyone off my back, but I doubt I'll be able to force more than a few bites of it down my throat.

We continue working until the guys get back with our lunch order, and then we break to eat. Everyone scatters around the building; there's obviously some unspoken tension in the air still, so no one really wants to be within the splash zone. They may not know what's wrong, but everyone can feel it. Everyone knows something bad is about to happen. But no one but me really knows what the problem is. If it were up to me, no one else ever would.

I hide in one of the back rooms, one that's usually just used for storage, to eat my lunch. It 's pathetic, but at least I'm alone. For a while. When I hear footsteps through the larger storage area, headed my way, I know without even looking out the door that it's Taylor. Who else, besides his wife, has such impeccable timing when it comes to ruining my day?

“Zac,” he says, breathing heavily like he's been running a marathon around the building searching for me. “There you are. Are you hiding or something?”

“Or something,” I mumble, the words going completely unnoticed by Taylor as he walks right into the room and sits down on the opposite side of the table.

“What are you doing?” He asks. “Seriously.”

“Eating lunch,” I reply, ignoring the fact that I've taken all of three bites out of my burrito.

Taylor rolls his eyes. “I said seriously. Why are you being like this? It feels like you're pushing me away.”

“Maybe I am,” I say.

Taylor reels back like I've actually physically punched him. “But... why? After what I told you?”

“It has nothing to do with that.” That's as close to the truth as I want to get, even though I know it won't be enough to soothe his worries.

“So if it's not about that, then what did I do?” Taylor asks, still pushing me just like I knew he would. At least there are some small ways in which I can predict his behavior, even if everything else about him makes no sense at all.

“Nothing,” I reply as emphatically as I can, and it almost sounds believable. “It's not about anything _you_ did.”

I can already tell as the words fall out of my mouth that Taylor's going to read too much into them. I put too much emphasis on _you_ and he knows it is about something someone did. He's going to ask. He's going to fucking ask and I'm going to fucking tell him. It's absolutely unavoidable now. I'm not sure, but I think I'm hyperventilating. 

“Then what—or who—is it about?” He asks. “Is it... Carrick?”

And just like that, I can breathe again. I let out a huge sigh and shake my head. I don't even realize how much I must have been freaking out until I feel Taylor's hand on my shoulder, like he's anchoring me and pulling me back to the surface.

“What the hell is it, Zac?” He asks. His voice is soft, but still imploring. He's getting agitated because I can't just spit it out, but there's something more than that in his words, something gentler in his tone.

He cares. He actually cares. And that's why I tell him.

“It's your wife,” I finally manage to choke out.

Taylor just stares blankly at me, his hand falling from my shoulder and landing with a soft thud on the table between us.

I take a deep breath before I continue. “Natalie... she, she found the pictures. Of us. From the photobooth.”

His eyes blink rapidly for a moment, and I swear I can actually see the gears in his mind turning, trying to make sense of my words. After a moment, he shakes his head, “No... no she didn't. She didn't say anything.”

“Not to you,” I reply. “She was helping Kate with the laundry and she found them. She came right to me, and told me... told me never to touch you again.”

Taylor's still shaking his head like he doesn't believe me. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he honestly has no clue what Natalie's really like, and he's going to refuse to accept any evidence against her. It shouldn't surprise me so much. He's just that damn stubborn.

“She knows, Tay. She knows.”

“No... no...” he repeats, still shaking his head, but now it seems more from fear than refusal to believe me. “W-what's... what's she gonna do?”

“Nothing,” I reply. “As long as I leave you alone. She was very clear about that.” 

“And if you don't?” He asks, his voice full of morbid curiosity, his face telling me that he doesn't want me to answer but he needs to know.

“I don't know,” I reply, shaking my head. “But it won't be good. She threatened to tell Kate. To... to make sure I never saw my kids again. I can't imagine you would get to see yours, either.”

Whatever was holding Taylor together snaps right then and he falls back in the chair, shaking so hard that my first instinct is to reach out and touch him. Natalie can't see me now. She can't know. But somehow I just... can't. It's so fucked up that I'm so scared of her that I can't even touch him now when we're all alone. I hate that she's done this to us, to me.

“She wouldn't...” Taylor mumbles, but at this point he doesn't even sound like he believes himself.

I shrug. “She seemed pretty serious. Do you wanna risk it? I don't. So that's why... why I've been pushing you away.”

Taylor nods. “So... so that's it, then?”

“I guess,” I reply. “I don't know what else to do.”

“Well, maybe...” Taylor begins, but there's no light in his eyes, no sign that he even believes what he's saying. “Maybe if she just doesn't find out... maybe it'll be okay. It's not like anyone knows.”

“Besides Carrick.”

Taylor blinks. “Oh... oh. Right. Well, you'd rather be with him, anyway, wouldn't you?”

Now it's my turn to stare at Taylor blankly. In a split second, he went from broken down and scared to cold and hard. All at Carrick's name?

“It's easier to be with him, anyway,” he continues. “I know it is. You know it is. So you should do it. Just be with him instead of me.”

The words come out like Taylor's rehearsed them, and I just don't believe that it's what he really wants. But it doesn't matter.

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding. “I guess I should... just be with him.”

Taylor nods again. “Yeah. You guys will be good together.”

“Okay. Yeah.” 

I stand up and wrap my burrito back up, still not having eaten any more of it. I'm waiting for Taylor to stop me, to tell me he doesn't mean it, and he's thought of some way we can get around Natalie's plan.

But he doesn't. 

He lets me walk right out of the room, my cold and unappetizing my burrito in my hand. He lets me walk away from him. I don't know if he's doing it because he has to or because he wants to, but it really doesn't matter. The result is the same, no matter the reason. I still don't even have the power of choice. I'm still forced away from someone I really want and stuck with... well, someone I also want. But it's not purely by my own choice, and that makes it feel wrong.

I'm not sure anything will ever really feel right again, though. I guess I should just get used to this feeling.


	49. Leftovers

The rest of the studio day goes by surprisingly well, more than I ever would have imagined. Taylor and I keep our distance from each other, and if anyone notices, they know better than to comment on it. As things wind down for the evening, everyone starts talking about their plans for the night. Carrick, Austin and a few of the others want to go out for drinks, while Isaac has plans for a nice dinner at home with Nikki. Neither plan quite works for me; I don't feel like pretending to be happy at a bar, nor do I have anyone to go home to.

Taylor looks just as unhappy as I feel, but there's nothing I can do for him. Even now that he knows the truth, he still has to go home to Natalie and pretend that everything is fine. I can't change that for him. I wish I could. 

As I'm packing up my laptop to leave, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. That's strange. Anyone who would possibly text me is here. I pull it out and stare in disbelief at the name on the screen—Kate.

_I made lasagna and we're not going to eat it all. You can have the leftovers, if you want._

I'm not sure what to say to that. I text back just one word— _Okay_ —but even after I've gotten in my truck and started down the road toward the house I used to call home I feel like there's something strange about the whole idea. Why is she inviting me over? Is it really just because she has extra food? Then I remind myself—this is _my_ wife, at least for now, not Natalie. She isn't that devious. Surely she has no ulterior motives.

But what if she does?

It's that little bit of doubt, that nagging worry that I just can't know what she's thinking, that keeps me on the edge of my seat during the entire drive. I'm halfway tempted to dig around in the glove compartment and under the seat for a roach I can smoke to calm my nerves, but I know I won't find one. Anyway, I know that showing up stoned is the last thing I should do. If I want to prove to Kate that I'm not falling apart, and I do, then I need to be sober. The last thing I need is for Kate to worry and feel sorry for me.

Even though I know there are three people inside, the house looks deserted. It never did look all that lively and lived in, though, even when we were all here. I never used to think that was a big problem; we were just quiet at home. That was all. I should have known it was a sign of a bigger problem. 

It feels strange to let myself in with the key I still have, but it would feel even worse to knock or ring the doorbell. I go in through the garage and down the short hallway to the kitchen. The only sound is running water and the soft hum of a television set in the next room. It's still every bit as quiet as ever, maybe even moreso.

I stand just inside the kitchen for a moment, staring down at my feet. Kate has her back to me as she rinses off dishes, so she hasn't even noticed that I'm in the room yet. After a minute or so, I clear my throat to get her attention.

“Oh,” she says, jumping a little. “I didn't hear the door...”

“Sorry,” I reply. It's sad that after spending so long together, our conversations are barely more than monosyllabic.

Kate turns the faucet off and picks up a towel to dry her hands. She's not wearing her ring, which I suppose isn't strange since she was washing dishes, but it still looks wrong. It occurs to me that mine is still around my neck; it's become such a part of me that I didn't even think about the fact that I'm still wearing it. Should I take it off or can it wait until the divorce is final? I don't know. It's just a symbol, anyway. What difference does it make?

“Are you, umm... are you alright, Zac?”

At Kate's words, I realize that I've been staring off into space. I shake my head a little to clear it, then give her what I'm sure is a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Yeah, I was... I'm just tired. We had a long day at the studio.”

“It's good that you guys are working again, though,” she replies, but I can tell she doesn't totally buy my excuse. I don't either. “Well, umm, I went ahead and put the lasagna in the fridge, in some Tupperware. I guess you can take it...”

I nod, because I can't think of an appropriate response to that, and walk over to the refrigerator. It's weird how I already don't feel at home here, when half my stuff is still scattered around this house. I know I need to pack the rest of it up, too, but like taking off the ring, it's just another thing that says it's really over. I'm not sure why I'm so reluctant to let go of this marriage, after everything I've done behind Kate's behind. It's been over for a long time. Why can't I let it go?

Once I've retrieved the container of lasagna, there's no reason for me to linger, but like everything else, I just can't let go. I stand there awkwardly in front of the refrigerator, trying not to stare at Kate, rocking back and forth on my heels.

“So, I was, umm... I mean, I have an appointment with a lawyer,” Kate says, breaking the silence.

“Oh,” I reply. “Okay, that's... do I need to get a get lawyer? Or be there? I don't know... how any of this works.”

Kate shrugs softly. “Me either. That's why I made the appointment. I'll get some answers and then... I'll let you know what we need to do next, okay?”

I don't know how she can be so nice and patient with me. I'm not sure she was even this patient when we were still trying to make things work. Maybe having me out of the house is just that much of a weight off her shoulders. If she only knew... but that's why I'm giving up things with Taylor. So that Kate never will know the truth of just how awful I am.

I'm so busy staring down at my own feet that I barely even realize she's stepped in closer to me until her shadow hits me. She reaches for my arm and asks, “Are you okay? Really? You seem... off.”

“I don't... I'm... yeah, I'm fine,” I manage to stutter out, sounding absolutely unbelievable. It's no surprise at all that even Kate can see right through me. We may be practically strangers now, but she's a smart woman. She can see what's right in front of her.

Kate frowns. “Are you really? Is it... us... or something else? Is everything okay with the band? I know things have been rough lately and you guys haven't been able to work much.”

“No, it's not...” I begin, then shake my head. There's no way I can even come up with an excuse. “I guess it's just... the divorce, separation, whatever.”

“You know I'm not trying to make this hard on you, right?” Kate asks, her frown deepening so much that I almost want to joke that it will stay that way.

“I know. And you aren't.”

It's the truth. She isn't. It's my own sins and Natalie's discovery of them that's the problem, but of course, I can't tell Kate that and ease her fears. I can't tell her a single thing that goes any deeper than the surface, anything that does more than just skim at the truth. 

“If I ever do, let me know, okay?” She asks, giving my arm a little squeeze before finally letting it go. “This should go as easily as it can... for the kids, and for you. Just because things didn't work out between us... I just can't hold that against you and you alone. I was here, too.”

I don't know where all of this came from, and all I can do is listen and nod dumbly. How is it that Kate ended up with a best friend like Natalie, anyway? Does she even have a clue what her friend is really like? Surely she has to... but Kate, she isn't like that. For all the times we've fought, I know she isn't truly a bad person. She's just not the right person for me, and I'm not the right person for her, in so, so many ways.

It's a good thing she only knows a few of those ways.

“I know,” I reply. “I'll... I'll let you know. You're not doing anything, I swear. It's just... me.”

It's partially a lie, but Kate seems to buy it. With a tiny nod, she steps back. “I guess I'll let you get going, then. You probably haven't eaten yet. Do you need anything else? I only made the lasagna tonight, but there are some brownies I made yesterday and...”

I shake my head to cut her off. “No, that's alright. I'm not going to starve to death any time soon, I promise.”

I pat my stomach to punctuate the statement, and that gets a tiny smile out of Kate. If there's one thing that can break the ice, it's my low self esteem, I guess. 

“I'll just get going, then,” I say. “Maybe tomorrow or the next day, I'll come back and get some more of my stuff. I'm sure you'd like to have it out of your way.”

And I'd like for there to be less potentially incriminating stuff lying around the house. It's not like I ever doodled Taylor's name in hearts on my notebooks or anything, but it still feels like he's written on every inch of my life. After what Natalie did, my paranoia is at an all-time high. I want everything that could possibly contain any sort of hint of the truth out of Kate's grasp.

“Sure,” she replies. “Just give me a call before you come over?”

“I will.”

That's it. That's all that's left of a six year marriage. There's nothing more for either of us to say, aside from a few awkward goodbyes, and then I'm out the door. I hear the lock click into place behind me, and it's probably the worst sound I've ever heard. It's still irrational that this bothers me so much, but I suppose it's just outward proof of how I fuck everything up. The one real relationship I've been in and I let it fall apart. And it's my own fault that Natalie found those pictures and ruined whatever chance Taylor and I had of having something good, something real.

Everyone laughs when I call myself my own worst enemy, but it's true. Although now, I suppose, Nat might rank a tiny bit higher on that list, but only just.

I'm going to look like a creeper if I hang around here much longer, wallowing in self pity at what used to be my house. With a heavy sigh, I climb into my truck and put the lasagna in the seat next to me. I don't know that I even have the appetite to eat it, but I couldn't tell Kate no. It would have just seemed petty and childish. At the same time, I don't like knowing that she feels sorry for me and wants to help me.

What it boils down to is this: I just can't win. At all.


	50. Burn

The next week or so, I keep myself isolated from everyone else. It just seems safest that way. I hide in my apartment, becoming more and more reclusive and paranoid by the day; the fact that I smoke the rest of my stash in the process probably doesn't help with the latter. Whatever. My world _is_ closing in on me. I'm not imagining that. I'm balanced on the edge of the cliff, waiting for someone or something to give me that final little push.

None of that is in my imagination. It really _is_ that bad. 

Eventually, I'm forced to leave my apartment. Even though we're on something of a hiatus, ostensibly locked in the studio recording the next album, we've scheduled a few more little appearances this summer. I had completely forgotten about this concert in Iowa, but soon it's upon me. I'm practically drug from my apartment for a few days of rehearsal, and then we're on the road—well, technically in the air. Either way, I'm out of my apartment and out of Tulsa.

All day, there seems to be something strange about Taylor. I can't quite figure it out, but I can feel it. Maybe it's just because of this whole thing with Natalie and the pictures. It's got me on edge too. I don't trust myself to even look at Taylor for too long, let alone actually spend any time alone with him. It just doesn't seem safe. The reasonable part of my mind tells me there's no way she has spies here watching us, but I've spent too long cultivating the paranoid part of myself to pay much attention to my more rational thoughts.

In the end, the paranoid side wins and I spend the entire day finding ways to put space between myself and Taylor. I ignore him the best I can as we check in and wait for the airplane to board. I sit in a different aisle from him entirely on the plane. Once we arrive in Des Moines, I rush to my hotel room and lock myself up in it. It might be a boring as hell way to spend the night, but watching television and eating pizza is way safer than talking to Taylor. I know me. I don't trust myself around him at all. Being a hermit is the far better course of action.

Which is, of course, why I've barely taken the first bite of pizza when someone knocks on my door.

It's Taylor. It has to be Taylor. Before I've even made it to the door and looked through the peephole, I know it's Taylor. 

And I'm right. When I open the door, he's standing right there, a strange smile on his face that makes me wonder if he's drunk.

“Are you drunk?”

He giggles. “No.”

“Stoned.”

“That's your bad habit, not mine,” he replies. 

I don't bother to mention that he's had far worse habits over the years than a little pot. I just shake my head and cross my arms, waiting for him to tell me why he's there. He doesn't.

“Come on,” he whines. “Just let me in your room.”

“You know we shouldn't.”

“I didn't say let me fuck you. I said let me in your room. Besides, Nat's not here. She's not going to know.”

“I know, but...” I sigh. “You know it's a bad idea, Tay.”

“I am genuinely just asking to come in your room. That's it. Nothing bad. In fact, I think I have some good news for you.”

With a long sigh, I step aside and let him into the room. What more can I say? Taylor is stubborn. He isn't going to give up until he's told me whatever it is he wants to tell me, so I might as well give in and get it over with.

He walks into the room like he owns it, practically bouncing up and down with... excitement? Nervousness? I'm not sure. He waits until I've shut the door before he says or does anything other than just stand there, though. And when he _does_ do something, it's the last possible thing I expect. But somehow, I still feel like I should have known.

He's holding the pictures. _The_ pictures.

“W-what... how...” I'm apparently only capable of speaking in single syllable words right now. Nothing makes sense at all.

“What?” Taylor asks. “Did you think she kept them in her bra all the time or something?”

“But... but you just _took_ them?”

He nods, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “That's exactly what I did.”

“But _why_?” I ask. My brain still feels like it's moving in slow motion, not processing any of what's happening here.

“Think about it, Zac,” he says. “What can she do without the pics? It's just her word against ours. So yeah, I took them. And we're going to burn them. And then what can she do? Who's really going to believe something that crazy?”

Okay, he almost has a point. And yet... I still just can't be as happy about this as he is. This can't possibly solve all of our problems. It just can't be this easy. Can it?

“She still knows,” I point out.

“But what can she _do_? What can she actually do now?”

I shake my head helplessly, because I don't know, but I _do_ know that she'll do something. She's Natalie. She's not going to stop until she gets her way, somehow.

“What can she do?” Taylor repeats, and I can tell he's starting to doubt his own plan now.

“I don't know,” I reply. “Something. Anything. She still knows. Do you really think she's going to give up that easily? Especially when this is... this is just like a giant fuck you to her. When she realizes the pictures are gone, then she'll know we're not following her orders.”

Taylor gives me the faintest hint of a grin. “I knew you didn't really want to stop.”

“I never said I did. It just seemed like the only option when she...”

Taylor nods. “I know. But it's not. It's not, Zac.”

He's so insistent that I can't refuse him. I never could; why would this time be any different? 

“Okay,” I say. “Let's burn the pics.”

With a big grin of his face, Taylor scurries off toward the room's balcony, whipping out his lighter as he goes. I'm powerless, as usual, to do anything but follow behind him. There are two chairs and one empty but dingy old ash tray on the balcony, as though this had been planned out for us by the entire universe. That's a silly thought, and I dismiss it as soon as it occurs to me. 

“Want to do the honors?” Taylor asks, holding the lighter and photo out to me.

I shake my head. “No, you can.”

I watch with rapt attention as he places the photos in the ash tray, settling himself into a chair and placing the ash tray on the balcony floor in front of him. He flicks his lighter at the corner of them and a second later, it catches. A bright orange flame licks the corner, spreading quickly across the entire sheet of photos. It's almost hypnotizing to watch the proof of our indiscretion fade away into blackness, ash and nothingness. 

Neither of us speaks a word, barely even letting out an audible breath, until the photos are all gone, nothing left of them but a tiny little pile of ashes. 

And then it's over. 

It isn't really, though. This is just the end of one phase and the beginning of another. What's coming for us next... I don't know. But I can't imagine it's really anything good. Just another, different sort of trial. Somehow, though, I feel a little bit more hopeful that we can make it through.

Taylor's long, relieved sigh hints that he feels the same way. He follows it up with a soft laugh, then fishes a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lights it up. It's so casual that I almost can't believe it's even happening. This has been way too easy. It can't possibly stay this way.

“So what now?” I find myself asking, ruining the almost blissful quiet surrounding us.

Taylor shrugs, flicking a little bit of cigarette ash in on top of the photograph ash. “I dunno. Whatever we want, I guess. Wasn't that the point?”

“You know it's not that simple,” I reply.

“Do you need a cigarette?” He asks. “Because you really need to chill out. Here, have a cigarette. Light up a joint. Do something, because you're stressing me out when this is actually going our way, and there is no need to be so tense.”

“Yes, Taylor, I brought weed with me on the plane. Because that's a smart thing to do.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't say a word. Instead, he pulls out another cigarette and, before I realize what he's doing, stuffs the end of it into my mouth. When he holds the lighter in front of it, I have no choice but to let him light it for me. I cough a little at first, but it isn't so bad. Not really. It isn't the first time I've smoked tobacco, but it never became a habit for me the way it did Ike and Taylor.

It doesn't do much to calm me down, but in a silly, childish way, I like that it's something Taylor and I are sharing. Other than the few rushed times we've been together, we seem to be drifting farther and farther apart lately, with nothing left to link us together except for the band and some vague sense of family obligation not to _totally_ abandon each other. But what do we have in common, besides this awful secret that isn't so secret anymore?

The second I think about that again, any trace of the cigarette's calming effect leaves me.

“Zac,” he says, between drags of his own cigarette. “Are you alright?”

“No,” I reply honestly. “I don't know... no, no I'm really not.”

“Why are you still so worried?”

“Why _aren't_ you?”

Taylor shrugs again. “Because I can't be. Because if I stop and actually think about everything that's so fucked up about... all of this, about my whole life, I'll probably kill myself. So I just can't think about it. I can't.”

He says it so dismissively, so casually, like it's nothing at all. If he'd expressed any emotion at all, I think I might have broken down. I can feel it, though, barely held back by the floodgates. Someday soon... we're both going to explode. There's no doubt in my mind that it's coming.

Even if we have each other, I'm not sure how we can survive. And I'm not even sure that we have each other.

“You just have to stay positive,” he says, but his voice is completely monotone, void of any and all emotion.

“How did everything get so fucked up?” I ask, the words barely more than a mumble.

“It's my fault,” Taylor replies, his own voice a hoarse whisper. “I married that... that... well. You know. I fucked everything up.”

There's the tiniest catch in his voice, a pinprick hole in his own floodgates. I reach out and rest my hand on his thigh, not daring to make any bolder move than that. Taylor glances down at my hand, but doesn't say a word. He just pulls out another cigarette and lights it up. I haven't even finished my first.

We sit there in complete silent while we smoke the rest of our cigarettes. It still doesn't do much to calm my nerves. Taylor's hand coming to rest over mine on his thigh goes a lot longer toward soothing my worries, in fact. I _know_ we still shouldn't do this. Natalie still knows, and knowing is all she really needs to ruin our lives. I don't know how, but I don't doubt at all that she can find a way.

Once the cigarettes are nothing more than stubs and ashes, we still sit there, watching the sun go down. Taylor gives my hand a squeeze, causing me to glance at him. There's the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips, but a serious look in his eyes.

“She can't take this away from us,” he says, squeezing my hand tighter. “No one can.”

I hope he's right.


	51. Cloud Nine

I know better than to let my guard down. I do. But I let it down anyway, and I crawl into bed with Taylor like there's nothing at all wrong in our lives. I suppose I'm trying to see things the way Taylor does, even though I know it's foolish to be so optimistic. But what good would we be if we were both horrible depressive messes?

So I let him lull me into a false sense of security, all the time knowing that it's only going to come back later to bite us both in the ass.

Everything that happens once we're back inside the hotel room is a blur, which is strange, because we're both totally sober. I think we're drunk on power, though. We've just taken control of our lives back, at least for the moment, and it feels good. So then we lose control together, hips crashing desperately together and hands clawing at the sheets. It hurts both of us, I think, and threatens to leave bruises, but I don't care and I don't think Taylor does either.

Even though it's what's threatening to destroy us, this togetherness is also the only thing holding us together. 

He takes a long shower afterward, and I struggle to convince myself that he isn't just trying to wash and scrub me away. There's something different about him today, though—different even from our last little getaway. I don't entirely trust this change in him yet.

When Taylor finally ends his shower and walks back into the room, I don't even try not to stare shamelessly. He notices, because how could he not? But he doesn't say anything. He just dries himself off, pulls on a pair of my boxers, and climbs into bed next to me. He has his own room, but apparently he's decided to spend the night with me. I'm not going to question it.

At least, I _wasn't_ going to question it. I wasn't going to question any of this, because speaking the words out loud might ruin everything, but I can't stop myself.

“Why?” I ask, the word hardly more than a hoarse whisper.

“Why what?”

“Why are you being like this? Staying here with me... being so, so... I don't even know.”

Taylor's brow furrows as though he's in deep thought, really considering the nonsense I just mumbled at him. I don't know how he can even attempt to answer the half question I asked him, but apparently he's going to try.

“I guess... you know, it's one thing to be constantly told that my wife is a horrible bitch. Because I live with her day in and day out, and she's not. Not always. She's nice to me, she's nice to the kids... on a day to day basis. But when other people try to force me to see 'the truth' about her, I just want to rebel against it. Until I can't. And I can't now.”

I give myself a moment to digest his words. “Okay, but what does that have to do with my question?”

“Everything? Nothing? I don't know.” He sighs. “I suppose... if one of the things I've tried to believe with everything in me—that I hadn't married the devil's sister—is proven false... then it makes me want to question everything else I thought I knew about my life. Does that make more sense?”

“Not much,” I admit.

“Well, I don't know what else to tell you,” he replies, rolling over onto his back. He's not angry, though, and trying to shut me out. He's just sleepy. He settles comfortably against my side, and I take the hint and roll myself over so my front is pressed to his back.

I want to ask if one of the things he's reconsidering is me and our relationship. If he was... I don't know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. So I don't ask.

“Hey, Zac?” He whispers. “You know how I feel about you, right?”

“Yeah,” I reply, even though I'm not sure that I do. 

But right now, I think his actions are speaking loud enough that I can make an educated guess.

****

Whatever strange change of heart has come over Taylor, it continues into the morning and afternoon. We have a long day of rehearsals, interviews and inevitable run-ins with fans before our performance, but I don't even mind. With Taylor there, actually giving me a genuine smile for the first time in months, everything else seems easier to deal with. I don't know if it will last, but I'm starting to feel my hermit attitude fading away. 

Maybe we really will be okay. At least we are right now. That's probably more than we deserve, so I'm doing my best not to take it for granted.

The concert goes well. Really well. At the risk of sounding pessimistic, better than I expected. Better than any of us expected, I think, if the wide eyed smiles we keep shooting each other during the set are anything to go by. There's just something about being on stage, though. When everything else in our lives is going to shit, we've still got the music. Maybe this little reminder of that will be enough to push us through this next album. Or maybe I really am just becoming far too hopeful.

I think I'm just high on optimism, in fact, because I have to keep reminding myself not to get too close to Taylor. Even if Natalie doesn't have spies, no one else needs to see us together. I might be optimistic, but I still understand the gravity of our situation and how we're resting on a knife's edge. One wrong move and everything could be revealed.

The realization that we don't even need Natalie to ruin this for us brings me back down to earth a little bit. But then I remind myself that I've harbored this secret desire for Taylor for half my life. If no one has suspected before now, then I think we're safe. 

Besides, who would really believe that I was in love with my brother? That's just crazy talk, the kind of thing that only a really sick and twisted mind could dream up.

I'm definitely feeling more than a little giddy, and I can't even blame it on any chemical mood enhancers, or the beer Isaac has been throwing back since we got off stage and began mingling with the fans. There's no reason at all for me to be on cloud nine, except for those little smiles Taylor keeps shooting me. That one little secret look is enough to make my day, week, and month.

And it's definitely enough to make signing a billion and one autographs bearable. 

Time passes so quickly, in fact, that it seems only seconds later we're being shuttled back to the hotel, crammed tightly into a van with all of our gear. Even the less than comfortable ride can't seem to put a damper on my mood, though.

But Taylor's ringing cell phone can.

I don't want to eavesdrop on his phone call, but how can I not? To my surprise, though, Taylor just lets it ring... and ring... and ring. Everyone in the van, besides the driver, is staring at him by the third time Georgia On My Mind repeats. 

“Wrong number,” Taylor says with a shrug. 

He's lying. I know he's lying, and I'm pretty sure everyone else does, too. Why would his default ring tone be that song? It has to be Natalie, but I'm too chickenshit to call him out on the lie. 

I don't have to, though. Within seconds, his phone—which he has now silenced—is buzzing in his lap. A long text message pops up on the screen, and my eyes are immediately drawn to it. 

_Natalie._

I knew it.

I'm not surprised that he's ignoring her, but it does make me nervous that she's calling and texting so insistently. That can't possibly be a good thing. In fact, there's only one thing it can really mean. She's realized the pictures are gone, and she's not happy. Then again, when is she ever happy? She's always been this possessive, too; it's not really all that unusual for her to call and call until he finally answers. Right now, though, I can't help jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

I should have known better than to let myself get infected with Taylor's reckless, foolish optimism.

His phone buzzes a few more times during the drive back to the hotel, but he ignores it entirely. It isn't until we've made it into the lobby that he finally pulls it to his ear. He practically sprints away from us all, so I can't even try to eavesdrop on his call. I'm not sure that I really want to, anyway.

With nothing else to do, I trail behind him, catching the next elevator up to our floor. He's nowhere to be seen and he doesn't have a key to my room, so I can only assume he's in his own room next door. Once I'm inside my room, I'm proven right. The thin hotel walls only muffle his voice enough that I can't make out his words, but I can definitely still hear _him_. I would know Taylor's voice anywhere. 

And I don't like the desperation I'm positive I can hear in it right now.

I throw myself face down onto my mattress and shove my face as far into it as I can while still being able to breathe. It almost drowns Taylor out completely, but it doesn't really make me feel any better. If I thought it would work, I would hold one of the cheap plastic hotel provided cups up to the wall connecting our rooms and try to listen to his side of the phone call. But I would still be left wondering what Natalie was saying, so it wouldn't sate my curiosity entirely.

I just have to wait. Assuming Taylor even feels like telling me what she's saying. 

Surely he will. It concerns me, too—at least, I assume it does. I don't know anything for sure right now, except that there's no possible way this is a friendly phone call full of good news. There's no way it can be anything but bad news for us.

It feels like I've spent hours laying here face down in the bed, growing progressively more lightheaded from lack of oxygen, but I'm sure it's only been minutes. Finally, when I'm seconds away from forcing myself up for air, there's a quick, insistent knock at the door. I don't hear Taylor's voice on the other side of the wall, so it has to be him at the door.

I scramble from the bed as quickly as I possibly can and hurry to fling the door open. I almost wish I hadn't, just because I can't handle the way Taylor looks right now. He looks like he's deflating before my very eyes, the happiness he'd worn as a defense failing him entirely and leaving an empty shell of a person in front of me.

“She knows we took the pictures,” he says. “But... she made copies.” 

I don't remember falling, but the next thing I know, I'm in Taylor's arms and we're practically holding each other up as we walk toward the bed. We collapse onto it together, neither of us willing to let go of the other. I'm not sure who's anchoring who at this point, but I do know who's trying to pull us under, even from hundreds of miles away.

“W-what's she going to do?” I ask once I've found my voice again.

Taylor shakes his head. “I don't know... she didn't believe that we hadn't... done anything. Probably because it was a lie.”

All I can do is nod.

“I don't know what we're going to do,” he admits. “There has to be... something.”

He doesn't even sound like he believes himself, and I'm not sure how he could. Even though it seemed like an escape was in sight, it never truly was. Nat's still holding this over our heads, and as long as she is... we can never escape this hell. 

We're back to the same two choices. One, never be this close again. Or two, constantly walk on eggshells in fear of Nat's wrath. Neither one seems all that pleasant... or even possible. Even though Taylor's suggesting a third option, he doesn't even seem to know what it is. 

I wish I hadn't seen this coming. But I did, and I still fooled myself into being happy. I let myself believe we were free, only to have that freedom ripped away from me mere hours later.


	52. Guilt

Neither of us gets much sleep the second night in Iowa. How can we? In spite of Natalie's vague warnings, Taylor stays in my room. Nothing really sexual happens, though. Mostly, we try to distract ourselves with movies and snacks from the hotel's vending machine. When those fail to hold our attention, we begin throwing out ideas for how to foil Nat's plan. Since we don't even know what her plan is, or how many possible copies of the photos she has or could make... we don't really come up with any definite plans of our own.

Every way that we manage to look at it, we're screwed.

That feeling of dread follows us into the morning and to the airport. It stays with us through the entire flight back to Tulsa. We seem to come to some unspoken agreement to keep our distance, at least publicly, and we put everyone else in our little entourage between us on the plane. It isn't much, but it's still hell to be this far away from him. Just when we've finally bridged this metaphorical distance between us, we're being forced to put physical distance in its place. It isn't fair.

But maybe it is. Maybe this is exactly what we deserve for being, in most of society's eyes, this sick and depraved. Maybe this is karma or God's retribution or something. I don't know. I don't remember the last time I really believed a word of what the preacher said in church... or the last time I even went. It's pretty hard for me to muster up any sort of feelings of remorse or guilt, even though I'm pretty sure that's what I _should_ feel for wanting my brother. But I just don't. So maybe that's why we're being punished. I don't know.

But it's _Natalie_. Who is she, the woman who trapped my brother in a marriage I'm positive he didn't want, to judge anyone? She's throwing a hell of a lot of stones out of her glass house, if you ask me.

I get pretty deep into my thoughts during the flight, but I don't come to any sort of conclusions. It isn't really that long of a flight, anyway, and I'm not sure there _are_ any conclusions to be reached here. There's nothing that can be said or done. 

Everyone in our group is quiet as we make our way back through the Tulsa airport. Most of us are happy to be home, Taylor and I excluded, but even that happiness is tempered by the fatigue caused by such a short trip. Either way, the two horribly depressed men in the group don't really seem out of place compared to how down everyone else is, and for that I'm glad... as glad as it's possible for me to be about anything right now.

Nikki and the kids are there to greet Isaac, but there's no one for me and Taylor. It's a stark contrast to our last arrival home, when Taylor's entire brood was here. Everyone has to notice, but no one says a word. By this point in the summer from hell, I think they all know better than to say a word about anything strange they've noticed.

I want to say or do something for Taylor, but I know I can't. Now that we're back in Tulsa, we have to put our guards up. Natalie could be, literally, lurking around every corner, ready to bust us for even the most innocent little thing. I hate that I can't even offer my own brother a ride home from the airport, but that's the state of our lives right now. Even that little gesture could be twisted around by Natalie, and with the photographic evidence she has against us, we couldn't even defend ourselves.

So I don't offer him a ride. With barely more than a mumbled goodbye at a safe distance of a few feet apart, we part ways and go off to our own separate lives.

As I drive back to my apartment, it occurs to me that I've almost completely forgotten about Carrick over the last few days. Okay, I haven't really _forgotten_. I could never erase him entirely from my memory. It's just that other things have taken precedence over him. That realization brings on a lot of guilt, but I'm not sure what to do about it. I can spend more time with him now to make up for it, but it won't erase these few days without him. 

As always, no matter what I do, I just can't win.

When I've arrived home and finished unpacking, I contemplate giving him a call. Maybe we can hang out tonight. I can't bring myself to do it, though. While I can't muster up any guilt over what I've done with Taylor, I _do_ feel guilty for ignoring Carrick so thoroughly, and that guilt leaves me too paralyzed to even send him a text.

That doesn't leave much of anything for me to do for the rest of the day. I smoked all my stash before I left, and I'm feeling too lazy to even call around and try to replenish it. I just don't want to do anything but sit and wallow, even though I know I should be doing something to distract myself. But I just _can't._

In the end, I settle for playing video games and scarfing down all the junk food in the apartment. Not a great way for a grown man to spend a day, but I can't really find it in myself to care. When everything else about my life is going to shit, I might as well indulge in the few things I have left that bring me some amount of joy.

I've reached a point in my life where I don't even care how sad I sound. It's just a fact of my life; I'm a pathetic mess. I've accepted this.

I waste several hours on the video games, eventually taking a break only to order myself a pizza. The cheerful, probably teenage, girl on the phone talks me into a special deal that gets me an extra large pizza and wings, and I'm powerless to say no. Why not? It's not like I've got any other plans for night besides eating myself into a coma and passing out as early as I can.

Not surprisingly, it ends up being more pizza than I can eat on my own, but I give it my best anyway. I'm halfway through my third slice when my cell phone starts ringing. I just got this phone a few months ago and I've been too lazy to assign special ringtones to the contacts, so until I locate it amongst the couch cushions and glance at the screen, I have no idea who could possibly be calling me.

It's Taylor.

In my haste to answer him, I wipe the pizza grease off on my pants, not really even caring if it stains. My hand is shaking so hard I can barely answer the phone and hold it up to my ear, but after a few stressful seconds, I finally manage to say, “Hello?”

“Hey, Zac... umm, is is alright if I come over?” He asks breathlessly.

Well, he's certainly not wasting any time. I want to know why, when he's only just gotten home, he wants to come to my apartment, but that question can probably wait. “Yeah, of course. Come on over.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

The phone goes silent before I can even say goodbye, and that worries me. He's obviously in a hurry. That can't possibly be a good thing.

Something has happened with Natalie. That's the only possible explanation. Surely she hasn't kicked him out, though. Hasn't her entire purpose been to keep her marriage together at any cost? It just wouldn't make sense for her to kick him out. So the only other possible conclusion is that... he left.

But he wouldn't do that. Would he?

A little less than twenty minutes later, almost exactly at the time he said to expect him, the buzzer by the door goes off. I know it has to be Taylor, so I don't even bother saying anything to him; I just buzz him right on up and wait impatiently by the door for him to arrive.

When he does, he looks like he's been through hell. Has it only been just a few short hours since I've seen him? And was it only two nights ago when we were so happy and convinced that all of our problems were solved? It seems like years, and looking at Taylor, I'm guessing he feels that way, too.

I let him into the apartment without a word, because he doesn't really look like he's in a talking mood. He barely even seems aware of my presence; he just walks in and throws himself down on the couch. Even then, he just stares off into the distance, hardly even seeming to notice the video game on pause on the television screen in front of him. I consider offering to turn the game off and let him choose what to watch, but I don't think he really cares. I think he just needs a little time. Or a lot of time. I don't know.

I can't just stand here and do nothing, though. Taking a few steps closer to the couch, I say, “I've got pizza and wings, if you're hungry...”

He nods, but makes no move toward the kitchen. Since he seems pretty helpless, I head that way and fill a plate for him—two slices of pizza and most of the wings that I didn't even want anyway. I open my mouth to ask him what he wants to drink, but think better of it, and just grab him a beer. He won't say no to that, I'm sure, and he probably wouldn't have answered if I had asked.

The food and beer nearly go flying out of my hand when, once again, my cell phone begins to ring. I set them back down on the counter and reach for it, my brow furrowing when I realize that the call is from Kate. What could she possibly want right now?

“Hey, Kate...” I say. 

That catches Taylor's attention. He practically flies off the couch and stares at me. I motion toward the plate on the counter, and he walks that way, but his eyes never leave me—and my phone.

“Zac,” Kate says. “Is Taylor there?”

“Yeah, he—” I begin, but I cut myself off when Taylor's eyes go wide and he begins to frantically shake his head. “No, I haven't seen him since, umm, since we got back earlier.”

There's silence on the other end of line like Kate is trying to decide whether or not I'm telling the truth. After a moment, she finally replies, “Well, if you do happen to run into him... I don't know what's wrong, but apparently Nat is really mad at him. So _wherever_ he is, he should probably stay there for a while and let her cool down, okay?”

“Okay, I'll... if I see him, I'll pass that along,” I reply.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I'll, umm, I'll see you soon, I guess.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Bye, Kate.”

“Bye, Zac.”

I'm really not sure what just happened. Kate _had_ to know I was lying and that Taylor really is standing right next to me. But she covered for him—for _us_. If she really knew what was going on, I'm sure she wouldn't have. If I thought religion would actually help me now, I'd thank god that Natalie kept her mouth shut about just exactly what Taylor did to upset her so much.

“What was that all about?” Taylor asks, looking just as confused as I feel.

“I'm not sure,” I reply honestly. “But I think my soon-to-be-ex-wife is covering for you. You have _no_ idea how lucky you are.”

“It's hard to really feel lucky right now.”

“What happened?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “She's just insane. I mean... it's not like I expect her to be understanding about... you know, _us_. But why she can't just _leave_... just let me go... I don't know.”

“She won't,” I reply. “You know you... well, your name... is her number one priority. Your status. This image of the perfect family. That's what she wants. It's not even about you, except for the fact that you're Taylor Hanson.”

“Why couldn't you have told me that ten years ago?” He asks.

I shrug. “Would you have believed me? I was just a kid.”

“But you knew it was true even then, didn't you?” He asks. Before I can answer, he says, “But I did, too. I just didn't want to believe it. And I wouldn't have even if you'd told me.”

“So there's no point in worrying about what might have been,” I reply. “It doesn't change anything. But what are we going to do now?”

“I don't know,” Taylor replies softly. “I wish I did.”

I do, too. I wish one of us had an answer. For now, for tonight, we're safe. For whatever reason, Kate is doing us a far bigger favor than she even knows. But after tonight... god only knows what's going to happen to either of us... and to our family.


	53. Cover

I can't get anything else of substance out of Taylor for the rest of the night, but truthfully, I don't even try that hard. Whatever Natalie said or did, it can't be any worse than what she's already done. For now, we're safe... as safe as we can be while we're still walking this tightrope.

Taylor sleeps in bed with me, but far to the other side of the bed, so close to the edge that I'm afraid he's going to fall off. But I know his paranoia is unavoidable. Even if we both logically know that Nat can't possibly be spying on us here in my apartment, we still know how risky it is for him just to be here. 

Our only saving grace is that, for whatever reason, Kate is on my side right now. 

But not everyone or everything in the world can be on our side. It's just our luck that not even a day after getting back to Tulsa, Isaac thinks we need to get together to record. Under any other circumstances, he would probably be right. We had a good vibe going at the concert, and for all he knows, we still do. Maybe at least for a day or two, Taylor and I can play along and we can record a song or two.

To be on the safe side, we drive to the studio separately. I don't know where Taylor plans on telling Natalie that he spent the night if not with me. If he's gotten that far ahead in his plan, he hasn't bothered to let me know. I'm sure he'll figure something out, even if it's just prolonging the inevitable. Natalie has proven that she isn't stupid or clueless; she _has_ to suspect he was with me, even if she can't prove it.

She isn't at the studio, though, so we can let our guard down a little bit—but only a little. It's still enough that we do manage to get some work done. In spite of all the worries plaguing me, it's pretty easy to lose myself in the music, and hours pass by like they're nothing more than minutes. Before I realize any time at all has passed, it's time to break for lunch.

I'm not all that hungry, but I still rattle off a sandwich order to one of our interns. I won't eat much of it, but I know it will only look more suspicious if I claim not to have an appetite. So I order my lunch and settle in to check my email like nothing is wrong.

Only a few minutes later, a light knock comes at the door. I look up to find Carrick standing there, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Hey,” he says. “Can we talk?”

I shrug. “Sure, we're capable of it.”

Carrick doesn't speak again until he's pulled a chair over to my desk and sat down right next to me. “So, is there any particular reason why I'm supposed to go along with the story that your brother spent the night at my place?”

“ _That's_ his story?” I ask.

“Apparently,” Carrick replies. “Care to tell me why he needs a story?”

“Covering his ass. And mine.”

Carrick seems to consider that for a second, then nods. There's something else in his eyes, but I can't identify it. Something else he wants to ask or say or... something. I know I need to say something else, too. I need to apologize, but I'm not sure I even know how. It's not like an apology would make anything about this entire situation okay.

“Care, I... I'm really...”

He stops me, one hand held up in the air to silence me. “It's fine. It can't be helped. I'll cover for you guys... this time.”

 _This time._ The words are gently spoken, not even a hint of malice in them, but I know his patience is running thin, and why wouldn't it be?

As he gets up and walks away, realization hits me. I'm not sure why I haven't realized it sooner. Just as I've been waiting for Taylor to understand how I felt, so has Carrick been waiting for _me_ to realize how _he_ feels. How did I miss that? How could I be so oblivious? Of course I knew he cared about me, but it never once occurred to me that he must hate being caught up in this Taylor thing with me.

But I don't see a way to remove him from it. As long as he's in my life, especially as long as he's here in Tulsa, he'll be a part of it. Taylor will always be a part of my life, whether Natalie likes it or not.

Once again, I don't see any possible escape for any of us.

There has to be some way I can make this hurt Carrick a little less, though. It's not as though I don't love him, too. Perhaps it's different than how I love Taylor, but why does that have to matter? I didn't love Kate the way I loved Taylor, either, and... maybe that isn't the best comparison. I don't want my relationship with Carrick, whether it's a friendship or something more, to slowly fall apart the way my marriage has.

But why does it have to? Why couldn't I make something work with him? 

Even though I can't think of a single good reason why it couldn't work, I still don't feel terribly hopeful about it. It's all I've got, though. There was never any hope of this thing with Taylor being a real relationship. Carrick is my only shot at something vaguely resembling normal. Why have I ignored it for so long?

With these thoughts in mind, I scurry out of the room to find him. I hope he isn't too upset with me to listen to what I have to say. I don't, of course, have any plan about what to say. I just know that I can't let my fears and doubts get in the way of saying _something_ and trying to salvage what's left between us.

I waste so much time thinking that he's made it all the way back into the studio by the time I find him. I let myself into the control booth and just... watch. He has his back turned to me, every muscle in it flexing as he strums his guitar. I don't recognize the song, but I like it. It's a little heavier and darker than his usual music, and I can't help wondering what the lyrics are, if they exist yet. I wonder if they're about me. I'm not conceited enough to ask him _that_ , though.

When he's done, he spins around and opens his mouth to speak, but it's obvious that I wasn't who he expected to see. He closes his mouth, his lips set in a frown. This isn't going to be easy, but I have to try. 

I attempt to plead with him with my eyes, and he seems to get my message. He sets his guitar down and walks into the control booth, but he doesn't say a word. Now I just have to find some words of my own.

“Carrick,” I say, figuring his name is a safe enough place to start. “I... I really am sorry, you know.”

“You said that already,” he replies.

“I tried to. You didn't let me finish.” Great. This is turning into an argument already.

He doesn't look angry, though. Just... resigned. “So apologize. What are you sorry for, Zac?”

“For... everything. For getting you all caught up in the middle of this thing with me and Taylor. I know it's not... not where you want to be.”

“Zac,” He says, his eyes softening a little. “Wherever you are... that's where I want to be. You know you can't get rid of me that easily.”

“I feel like there's a but there,” I reply, immediately wishing I hadn't.

Carrick nods. “But... I can't be who you run to every time something goes wrong with him. It's just not right, Zac. And I don't mean the thing between you two, because you know I don't give a fuck about whatever some religion says about love. But it's not right for me to just be... the consolation prize. I shouldn't let you keep doing that.”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I shouldn't keep doing it to you. And I didn't... I never _meant_ to. I think I only just realized that I was. And I don't want to. I don't want to just run to you when I can't have him.”

“So?” He asks. “What does that mean?”

I take a few steps closer to him. “That I don't want to keep putting you second. I want to put you first.”

“As in... you want to be with me?” He asks incredulously.

I nod, but the motion stops as soon as I see Carrick shaking his head in response.

“You still don't get it,” he says.

“Then help me get it,” I plead.

“You say you don't want to put me second, but that's exactly what you're doing. If being with Taylor was an option... not a real option, but one that at least wouldn't destroy your lives... you would choose him, not me. But now that someone is telling you definitely that you can't have him, you run to me. I'm not your first choice because you want me to be. I'm just the first choice because Taylor's out of the race now.”

I have no response for that. Everything he's just said is true; how can I possibly dispute any of it? I still _want_ to, but I can't.

“Do you get it now, Zac?” He asks.

I nod.

“Good,” he says. “You know I don't... I don't want it to be this way, right? But I just can't do this. I'm not leaving, but I don't know how much more I can take. Like I said, I'll cover for you guys this time. But don't count on me doing it every time you want to tempt fate.”

I shake my head. “It's not... it wasn't like that. He didn't come over just to... He had a big fight with Nat, okay? That's all.”

“Whatever,” he replies, throwing up his hands. “I don't want to be in the middle of it. I can't fix it for you, and I definitely can't fix it for myself. Maybe that's selfish of me, but... I think I have to be a little selfish right now.”

“So what are you saying? You're not even going to be my friend now?”

Carrick shakes his head. “I didn't say that. I just need to take a step back, and you need to... figure out how to sort your own life out. Stop leaning on me and giving me all these false hopes.”

 _False hopes?_

Is that really how he sees it? It has to be. If there's one thing I know about Carrick, it's that he always says what he means. I don't have to dig through his words to find the truth the way I do with Taylor. If he says I'm only leading him on and he can't take it any longer... then that's exactly what he means.

And I can't even dispute it. Everything he says... is true. It's not what I meant to do, but it's what I've done.

I try to will myself to say something, anything that will convince him to reconsider this, but I can't. Carrick is right. What can I possibly say to him? Nothing. Not a damn thing. He's made up his mind, and he's not wrong at all. Whatever my intentions are... they don't change a thing.

With a sad little shake of his head, Carrick walks back out of the control booth. That's the end of the conversation, I know. There's nothing more than can be done. While he goes back to work in the studio, I make my way back to my office. Everyone's just arriving back for lunch when I walk in, and there are far more cheerful, talkative people around than I would like to see. I can barely manage to put a happy face on, but I don't really care. It doesn't matter to me at all whether or not anyone believes that I'm really happy right now.

“Here's your lunch,” Taylor says, handing me a Styrofoam take out container. He holds my stare for a moment, then asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I'm fine.”

It's a lie, but I can't bear to get into the truth with him right now. He doesn't need to know. I could blame him, but it really isn't his fault. He didn't force me to fall in love with him, and he definitely didn't force me to hurt Carrick the way that I have.

That's all on me. And if there's a way out of this mess, I have a feeling it's going to be all on me, too.


	54. Babysitting

I wake up the next morning with an awful sense of dread. I don't know what it is, but I just have a feeling that somehow, things are going to get worse. How that's even possible, I don't really know. All I know is that the second I wake up, I'm filled with such horrible apprehension that I can barely even convince myself to leave the bed. Maybe if I never leave my bed, whatever I'm afraid of won't happen.

But that's silly. I know it is.

Still, I fight this internal battle for several minutes before I can convince myself to pull my head from the pillow. Nothing in my apartment seems different. I can't see anything to indicate that anything has gone wrong... yet. But I can still feel that strange nervous tingle up my spine, warning me that something is about to happen.

I make it almost all the way to lunch without my world falling apart, though. In fact, things are so quiet, with my phone not even chiming to alert me of a text, that it only serves to make me more nervous. It's almost a relief when my phone finally does ring... until I look at the screen and see that it's Kate calling. 

“Hello?” 

“Zac,” she says, sounding breathless. “I really, really hate to just spring this on you... but would it be alright if I brought the kids over? Could you just watch them for a little while?”

“Umm... sure,” I reply.

Kate heaves a sigh of relief that's audible even over the phone line. “Thank you _so_ much. I know you haven't seen them that much lately, anyway, and I... well, I guess we should do better about that. But I really appreciate this.”

“It's no problem,” I say, trying to digest all that she's just said. I have a feeling there's a lot that she's leaving _unsaid_ , and perhaps I can get that out of her once she gets here.

“Okay, well, just give me a few minutes to pack a little bag for them, just some of their toys, extra clothes and things, and I'll be right over.”

She doesn't even give me a chance to reply to that before she hangs up, and that's how I know Kate has to be stressed out. She's nothing if not polite. That something bad that I woke up anticipating? I'm not sure what it is, but I think it just happened.

True to her word, Kate arrives at the apartment just a few minutes later. I can only imagine how fast she must have driven, especially knowing that she had two kids to drag along with her. Something is definitely up. I buzz her in quickly and wait impatiently by the door so that I can ask her just exactly what the hell is going on.

Shepherd and Junia fly into the apartment as soon as I open the door, clinging to my legs like they haven't seen me for weeks, rather than days. I wonder how Kate has explained my absence to them. Then again, it's not like I haven't been vanishing for long periods of time for their entire lives. So far, this probably hasn't seemed like that much of a change to them. Somehow, that still doesn't make me feel any better.

As if I needed something else to feel guilty about.

Kate gives me an apologetic look as she hands me their tiny backpacks. I wonder if she's guessed what I'm thinking, or if she just feels bad for pawning them off on me right now.

“I went ahead and packed overnight bags for them,” she says. “I know I said just for a little while, but... well, I really don't know how long Nat is going to hang around.”

“Nat?” I ask, feeling like I've missed something big.

Kate blinks, and I can almost see the wheels in her mind turning, trying to backtrack and figure out what it is that she's left out. “Oh, right... yeah, she just came over in one of her moods. I haven't gotten much out of her, but I guess it has something to do with that fight she and Taylor had last night. I got the distinct impression that she doesn't want to be anywhere near him, so... I figured it was just best to get the kids out of the house, have a girls night in and try to calm her down, you know?”

I nod knowingly, because, well, I _do_ know more about this entire situation than Kate does. And if it's possible, I'd like to keep it that way.

“So anyway, I only packed enough for one night, maybe two,” she says, reaching out to touch my arm. “I really, really appreciate it.”

The kids have run off to start a video game, but I still lower my voice when I reply, “It's nothing. I am their dad, after all. It's not like I'm just... some babysitter.”

“I know,” Kate replies. “I didn't mean that. It's just... well, you know. This whole thing is just so messy and confusing, especially with Nat and Taylor going through... whatever it is they're going through.”

“We'll figure it out. All of us,” I say, trying to sound more confident and optimistic than I feel, which isn't confident or optimistic at all. But Kate seems to buy it, judging by the smile she gives me.

“I'll call you later and check on them, okay?” 

I nod, giving her my best attempt at a smile. “We'll be alright. Don't worry about us.”

“I'm actually more worried about Nat,” she admits.

“Me too,” I reply, and Kate has no idea how honest of a statement it is.

A few minutes later, after bidding the kids goodbye and reminding them that all the rules at the house still apply here, Kate finally leaves me alone with them. It feels strange, and I _hate_ that it feels strange. 

For a long time, I just stand over the couch, watching as Shepherd plays one of my video games and Junia amuses herself with the doll I'm sure she begged Kate to let her bring. I'm immediately struck by how big they've gotten. I know that's the sort of thing that would amaze me even if I saw them everyday, but it feels even worse knowing that I'm missing so much of this. The worst part is that it's no one's fault but my own. I've let myself get so concerned with so many other things that I'm letting my babies grow up behind my back.

And even as that occurs to me, I'm still distracted by wondering just what has driven Natalie away from Taylor today. I still can't just focus on the kids. I _have_ to know what's going on with Taylor.

I take one last look at the kids to make sure they're okay, but they barely even notice I'm there. I guess that's a good thing, but it doesn't make me feel much better about my parenting skills. Nevertheless, it means I have a little time to try to get some explanation out of Taylor.

With one eye still on the kids, I wander over to the kitchen area and type out a text to Taylor.

_What's the deal w/Nat? Kate brought the kids over here for me to watch_

I tap my phone impatiently on the counter as I wait for a reply. Taylor's usually glued to his phone, so I can't imagine that it will take him very long. But five minutes pass. And then ten. After fifteen, I'm forced to admit that he isn't going to reply—at least not soon enough for me to bother standing around waiting for him.

“Hey, kids,” I call out. “You guys ready for lunch?”

That gets a pretty enthusiastic reply, so I hope I actually have something I can feed them. Of course they have to eat lunch eventually, but it's also a way for me to distract myself from staring at my phone for at least a few minutes.

Luckily, I have some frozen corndogs and those seem agreeable to both of them. I'm sure Kate won't approve of those or the Mountain Dews I'm going to let them drink, but Kate isn't here. One meal of junk food won't kill them. If I'm completely honest, I know that stuffing them full of junk food will endear them to me a little. It's a terribly cheap way to buy their affection, but it's all I've got right now.

I can't help checking my phone again and again as I wait for the oven to heat up and cook our frozen lunch. There's still no text from Taylor, and I'm starting to get really antsy. It's not a good sign at all that he hasn't replied yet. A million horrible possibilities run through my mind, but I know I'm expecting the worst. There has to be a reasonable explanation for his silence. I just hope I find out what it is soon.

In just a few short minutes, lunch is ready and we're all back on the couch with our plates. I'm not just trying to be the cool dad by letting them eat in front of the television; the dining room table is just too big for Junia, and Kate was obviously in too much of a hurry to pack her booster chair. But lunch in front of the tv is good enough for today, even though I'm already imagining all the stories they're going to tell Kate about the many ways I've broken her rules. Oh well.

Once we're all done with lunch, I decide I have to do something else to distract myself from my still silent cell phone. If I can come up with something that will also keep the kids occupied and happy for a while, then that's just an extra bonus.

“Hey,” I say, once I've tossed their empty plates into the sink. “Why don't you guys go clean up, and we'll go out to the park?”

“Yeah!” They both cry out.

“Shep, help your sister wash her hands!” I call out as they disappear around the corner to the bathroom, practically racing each other there. 

That was easy enough. Once again, I've chosen the route of being the cool dad. But it's summer and I didn't have a plan for the day; taking the kids to the park seems like a no-brainer. If we can make it back home without any major cuts and bruises, I think anyone would call the day a success.

A few short minutes later, we're at a park downtown, not too far from my apartment. Shepherd has found a few boys his age to play with, while I push Junia on a swing just a few feet away. I know this is only a tiny taste of fatherhood, but I'm not doing so bad. I never do. I just have myself convinced that I can't be a good father, but I'm not sure that I've ever even really tried.

I think it's about time to change that, but I'm not really sure how. Won't I see them even _less_ after the divorce? 

It's hard to even think that far ahead, though, when we haven't even met with a lawyer yet. Right now, all I can really think about are my more immediate problems. Such as why Taylor still hasn't answered my text. 

With one hand still pushing the swing, I reach into my pocket and pull my phone out yet again. It's getting a real workout today, as I check again and again for a text that I already know isn't coming. Sure enough, there's still no new text from Taylor... or from anyone else.

Whatever's happening, I'm still in the dark, and I don't like it one bit.


	55. Bitch

Amazingly, we all survive the day and night. Kate calls just before the kids' bedtime and assures me that I don't have to keep them another day. I wouldn't have minded, but she didn't really pack enough clothes for more than an overnight visit. We don't make any specific plans beyond me dropping them off before I go into the studio the next day, but I think there's a good chance that we can plan for them to stay with me more often. I'd like that.

At least, somehow, one thing in my life seems to be going right at the moment. It's about the only thing that is.

Getting Shepherd and Junia woken up, bathed, fed and dressed isn't as easy I would have hoped, but somehow I manage it. After an apologetic phone call to Kate to let her know I'm running late, I stuff a bagel in my mouth and head for the door with the kids in tow. Thankfully, it's a pretty short— and fairly traffic free so late in the morning—drive back to the house I used to call home.

Once we arrive, I'm surprised by how reluctant the kids are to leave me. It's sad that it surprises me just how much they want to spend time with me. Of course I'd like to keep them longer, too, and I promise them that next time, I will. I just wish I could tell them when that next time would be.

That's enough reassurance for them, though, and I'm finally able to get them up the walk to the door. I still have my key, so I don't even think twice about letting myself in. It's only after I've opened the door that I realize how strange the whole situation is. The house is quiet, as usual. I suppose Nat didn't bring the kids with her on this little visit. But even though it's quiet, it still feels wrong. I have a feeling the unwanted guest has more to do with that than just the whole fact that it isn't my home anymore.

The kids don't notice the strangeness, of course. As soon as the door is open, they go flying into the house, calling out to Kate. I just sort of stand awkwardly in the doorway, not sure what I should say or do, and really, really hoping I don't have to deal with Natalie.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, she walks out of the kitchen, a scowl on her face.

“What's all this commotion—oh. It's you.” If looks could kill, I would be dead on the doormat right now.

“Just bringing my kids back,” I reply as casually and politely as I can manage, which isn't very.

“So nice of you to play daddy for a night,” she says. 

Before I can get out any sort of reply about how she's run off yet again and left Taylor with their kids, she turns and walks back into the kitchen. It's probably for the best. Whatever I would have said would have been cruel. Maybe she deserves that. She probably does. But I just don't see it really helping the situation in any way.

Kate comes out a moment later, her face a picture of confusion. “Are you okay? Did the kids give you any trouble?”

“No,” I reply. “We had a good time. Went to the park, ate junk food, played video games...”

“Okay...” She replies, and I can tell she's looking for some reason for Nat's sour mood. As if Nat needs a reason to be a total bitch.

I sigh. “Look, I'm just gonna go, alright? I've gotta get to the studio.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kate replies, nodding. “I would offer you breakfast or lunch or something... but, well, Nat's not in a really good mood.”

“I noticed.”

Kate frowns. “Did she say something to you? Because she really doesn't need to drag you into this, even if he is your brother.”

If only she knew. But it's a good thing that she doesn't have any clue just how much I'm already entangled in this entire awful thing.

I shake my head and give Kate my best attempt at a smile. “No, she didn't say anything. But I really need to get going.”

“Let me know if she does,” Kate replies. “I'll tell her to leave you alone.”

That almost makes me laugh, because I know it won't work. But I appreciate the thought. It's so much more than I deserve, especially from Kate, after everything I've put her through. I tell her I appreciate the effort, bid her goodbye and then call out another quick goodbye to the kids. I know I should probably stick around and give them a proper goodbye, but I can't bear the thought of facing Natalie again.

If I _never_ have to see her again, it will be too soon.

I make it all the way to the door, my hand gripping the doorknob, when I hear Natalie's voice. I should have just known that she wouldn't let me leave so easily. She has to do everything she can to make my life hell.

“Zachary,” she says, and I know I don't have a choice but to turn around and face her. 

“Yes, Natalie?”

She takes a few steps closer to me and lowers her voice to little more than an intimidating whisper. “You can tell your brother that this isn't over yet. The two of you can't get away with this. It's sick, Zac. You know it is.”

“So is trapping someone in a marriage they don't want.”

My words hardly even seem to make an impression on her. She doesn't deny it, though. How can she? She just gives a little shake of her head and a smirk. “Don't get smart with me, Zac. I could ruin your life, and you know it.”

What can I say to that? She's right. She could ruin everything, but like Taylor, I'm starting to want to fight back. How can we let some crazy person control our lives? It isn't right. It isn't fair. But what can we do?

“That's what I thought,” she says when she sees that I'm speechless. “Just pass along that little warning to Taylor, hmm?”

With a weak nod, I turn and walk away. I don't care if she has more to say to me. I'm done listening.

I drive to the studio in a daze, wondering what I should say to Taylor. I don't know what kind of mood I'm going to find him in, if he shows up at all. I don't know if he can take hearing what Natalie said to me. But he needs to know, doesn't he? He needs to know what we're up against. Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better about the possibility of talking to him. 

And that's all just assuming he even _wants_ to talk to me. He still hasn't answered my texts or calls, and that doesn't make me feel any better about this entire situation. 

It's all just such a mess, and I don't know how to fix it.

The office is already buzzing with activity when I arrive, but there's only one person I really want to see. After a little searching, I find him bent over his keyboard, plucking out a melody like there's nothing at all wrong in his life. Just when I think I understand Taylor, he does something that makes no sense at all. He almost seems happy right now, and I don't understand it at all.

“Tay,” I say, just barely loud enough to be heard over the keyboard. 

He jumps a little, then turns to face me. “Hmm? What's up?”

“That's what I was going to ask you,” I reply. “I mean, what the hell happened? You know Nat's at my—I mean, she's with Kate. She's staying there or something.”

He shrugs. “We had a fight.”

“And you couldn't bother to answer my text and tell me that?” I ask, my voice raising an octave. I didn't want to be angry with him, but he seems so nonchalant, as though none of this is bothering him at all.

“Oh,” he says, blinking rapidly like he's trying to think. “Oh, I, umm... I smashed my phone. Well, Nat did. Well... it just sort of went flying while we were arguing. I haven't had a chance to get a new one yet.”

That almost seems believable. _Almost_. I'm still certain there's so much that he's not telling me.

“But what _happened_?” I ask.

“I told you,” he replies, crossing his arms. “We had a fight.”

I roll my eyes. “That's very specific, Taylor. I know it concerned me, so why don't you tell me what happened?”

“What do you want from me?” He asks. “You know she's insane. We just... fought. Just about this whole situation. She doesn't trust me, I think she's fucking nuts and we can't seem to agree on whether or not she's going to ruin our lives. I take issue with that particular plan of hers, as you might imagine.”

He's so strangely calm right now, and I really don't like it. Just beneath that, though, I can tell he's annoyed with me and I don't understand why. What have I done wrong?

Taylor sighs. “Look, it didn't accomplish anything, so... let's just drop it.”

“It got her out of your house, at least,” I reply. It's a pathetic attempt to make Taylor smile, and I'm not surprised to see it fail.

Taylor doesn't even crack a smile. He just shakes his head. “You know she's right, though. I mean... this is wrong, Zac. You know that. It doesn't matter how it feels to us. You know the rest of the world won't care.”

“And that's why we have to keep them from finding out,” I counter, but I can already feel my own resolve faltering. If Taylor doesn't want to keep fighting, then why should I?

“But how?” He asks. Without even giving me a chance to reply, he continues, “You know I just made it worse. The last thing I need to do is piss her off even more.”

“So you should just let her walk all over you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “What other option do we have? I'm trying to fight her, but it's just... it's just no use.”

“Fine. Just give up on me then. Give up on us.”

I'm practically fuming now, and I know it isn't going to accomplish anything, but I can't stop myself. Taylor's just throwing everything back at me and giving up. It pisses me off. I can't stick around and listen to this.

So I don't.

I storm out of the room before he can say anything else. Given half a chance, he would probably start defending that bitch again, and I just don't understand it. It doesn't matter what would happen if she spilled the beans on us. It's not about that anymore. It's about the way she's manipulating both of us, and the fact that Taylor seems almost willing to let it happen.

Why did he even bother picking a fight with her if he's just going to roll back over and let Natalie have her way yet again?

I just can't see the point of any of this anymore. I've lost my best friend. I'm losing my wife. Taylor seems to be drifting away from me, too. What am I fighting for? What _can_ I fight for? 

I thought I had hit rock bottom when Kate asked me to move out, but I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Everything I had is slipping from my fingers now, and it doesn't matter how hard I try to hold onto any of it, not if it doesn't want to be held.


	56. Hit

It doesn't surprise me at all to watch Taylor pull farther and farther away from me during the next few days. I don't understand it, when he had seemed so determined to fight this, but I expect it nonetheless.

With Taylor gone, what do I have? Not a hell of a lot.

I don't hear from Kate for a few days, either, so aside from going to the studio to work, I'm effectively cut off from the entire world... again. Even when I'm surrounded by people at the office, they all seem miles away. None of them really know what's going on in my world. The few that do are pulling away from me the fastest. 

It's really hard not to just wallow in self pity right now. If I gave in to that, I don't think I would ever leave my bed again. Unfortunately, I have too many obligations to the band and the business for hibernation to really be an option.

That doesn't mean I don't consider it anyway.

When we finally do take a few days off, I decide to spend them in a haze of smoke. It's been too long since I've had a break from everything, a chance to just lose myself entirely. It only takes a few phone calls and one drive to a slightly sketchy part of town to replenish my stash, and then I'm ready to relax for the weekend.

Which is why, before I've even managed to light up the first bowl, someone just has to press my apartment's buzzer.

I have absolutely no clue who it could be. No one just drops by to visit me. Even the few people who have come by the apartment have always called or texted first. I rush to answer the buzzer, my mind rolling over all sorts of horrible possibilities for why someone could be looking for me.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it's me... Kate.”

Of all the possibilities, that was probably the _last_ one on my list. “Umm... hey. Do you need me to watch the kids?”

“No, no... it's just me,” she replies. “Can I come up?”

There's no way this can be good, but I can't tell her no. I buzz her on up, and pace the apartment nervously while I wait for her. Did something happen to one of the kids? Did Nat tell her? I have no idea what could be happening, but I can't think of a single good possibility.

Shortly, there's a quick, insistent knock on the door. I fling it open and the sight in front of me is truly surprising. Kate is a _mess_. Her hair is in a bun, she's wearing what I'm pretty sure is one of my old t-shirts and she just looks exhausted.

“She's killing me,” she says. “I dropped the kids off at your parents. I told her I would be back soon. I lied.”

“What... what are you talking about?”

“Natalie,” she replies. “She's insane, Zac. I know she's my best friend, but she is driving me crazy. I don't think she's _ever_ going to leave.”

Kate lets herself into my apartment, practically pushing her way past me, and all I can do is follow her. She flops down on the couch, and I just stand there awkwardly, hoping she doesn't notice the pipe and baggie of weed on the coffee table.

“She's just... suffocating me. She's so angry all the time, so bitter, so... so... ugh, I don't know.”

I think I have some idea how bad she is, but I don't need to tell Kate that. Right now, I'm pretty sure she just needs to vent without my input.

“I understood when she needed time away from him before. But this... it's like this is just to punish him—for what, I don't know—but she won't leave him. She doesn't want to fix anything, but she's not happy, obviously, and I just...”

She trails off, and I realize that her eyes have fallen on the coffee table.

“Is that pot?”

“Y-yeah...” I reply, glancing down at the floor like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Can you... will you show me how to smoke it?”

_What?_

When I don't reply, because I'm too much in shock to form words, Kate, sighs. “It's good for stress, right?”

All I can do is nod.

“Well, Nat's squatting at the house right now with no plan to leave. Tell me I'm not stressed.”

She's got me there. Still feeling like I've stepped it a strange parallel universe, I take a seat on the couch next to Kate and finish packing the bowl. She watches intently as I light it up and take the first hit, all the while doing my best to explain to her how to do it. She's a quick learner, and only barely coughs after her first hit.

This is easily the strangest thing I've ever done—far stranger, even, than having sex with my own brother. Kate, my straight-laced, good Christian girl wife, is getting stoned with me.

I try to take it easy on her, since it's her first time, but soon enough we've smoked the whole bowl. It's just enough to take the edge off for me, but it's left Kate curled up in a little ball, staring at the wall.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I'm just... thinking. This isn't so bad. I guess... I guess I can see why you like it.”

“It's not so bad,” I reply with a shrug. “I thought you were morally opposed to using drugs.”

Kate sighs. “I thought I was, too. I'm just... I don't know, I guess everything is changing lately. You, me... whatever's going on with Nat and Tay...”

“She hasn't told you what they're fighting about?”

“No,” Kate replies, shaking her head. “Just... just that she doesn't trust him, he doesn't respect her, and so on and so far. Never anything specific, but she's just so angry all the time.”

Angry. I can't really imagine Nat losing her cool. I've seen it, but it's been years. Once she had Taylor for good, she became this old cold shell of a person—all smiles on the outside, but nothing at all underneath. It's hard to imagine so much anger coming from her now that it could drive Kate away from her entirely.

“You know... she said you were the same.”

I blink. “The same what?”

“The same as Taylor,” she replies. “Nat said that... that I didn't really know you at all.”

“She... she said that?” I squeak.

Kate nods. “But I mean, she's just angry, right? She knows you're going to take Taylor's side, so she's just venting her anger at you, too. You're not... you're not a bad guy, Zac.”

If only she knew.

“You and me, we just aren't compatible. That's all. Isn't it?”

Even though I know the lie is going to come back to bite me in the ass, I reply, “Yeah. That's all.”

“Do you think...” Kate begins, then trails off, looking sheepish. 

“What is it?” I ask, even though I'm almost afraid to know.

“Just... can I stay here for a while? Your parents have got the kids for the night, and... I just can't go back and face Nat yet. Is that awful?”

“A little bit,” I admit. “But it's okay. I wouldn't want to go back and face her either.”

Kate chuckles a little at that, and soon we're both laughing. It feels good, but strange, to be laughing and relatively happy with her. I can't remember the last time we had a normal conversation that didn't feel strained and forced. I like this. I can't help thinking that it never would have happened if we weren't separated, though. We're better apart than we ever were together.

It's a strange realization, maybe, but a good one. At least one thing about my life feels like it's going the way it should.

Once our giggles settle down, Kate persuades me to pack another bowl for us. It doesn't take much persuading, really. A few minutes later, we're passing my pipe back and forth, and Kate's taking hits off it like an old pro. It's strange to see, but it kind of suits her. She's so poised and proper, holding the glass pipe in her hand like it's some priceless artifact, blowing out gentle puffs of smoke.

“Why haven't we done this before?” She asks as she passes the pipe back to me with her perfectly manicured hand.

I shrug. “Because you didn't even want _me_ doing it?”

“Oh, right,” she replies with a giggle, as though she had actually forgotten. “Well, I think there are probably worse things you could do.”

There are. And I've done a few of them.

Kate seems to get lost in thought for a moment, staring off into the distance again. Finally, she glances back at me. “We're going to be alright, aren't we?”

“I... I don't know,” I answer honestly. “I hope so.”

“I guess that's good enough,” Kate replies with a weak smile. “Do you mind if I stay a little longer? Not... not all night, just a little while.”

“Not at all,” I reply, shaking my head.

The fact that I honestly don't mind surprises even me. It's sad to say, but I can't remember the last time I really _wanted_ to spend time with Kate. Then again, maybe it's just the weed talking. 

Whatever it is, I'm enjoying it. Together, we cook a few burgers and some fries, a far greasier, unhealthy dinner than I can remember seeing Kate eat since the last time she was pregnant. She even indulges in a Mountain Dew, despite the fact that she gave up soda years ago. With plates piled high with grease and empty calories, we settle in on the couch to watch a movie.

It almost feels like a date.

I know better than that, though. I'm just helping her buy some time and relax before she has to go back and face Nat again. It's friendly, surprisingly, but not romantic. We don't even sit that close on the couch, and we certainly don't cuddle. We really are just like old friends. I'm glad we can be that, if nothing else.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, giving me a little nudge.

I shrug. “Just... about everything that's changed, I guess.”

Kate nods. “It's been a crazy summer. How can everything just... change so fast?”

“I don't know,” I reply.

That's a lie. I can pinpoint exactly when and how things changed. Everything changed when Carrick came to Tulsa. His arrival set into motion this strange turn of events... from kissing Taylor, to fooling around with both of them, to... everything that Nat has done. 

I'm not blaming Carrick, though. I know my marriage was on thin ice before that, and I know I'd wanted Taylor for even longer. But would I have ever acted on those feelings? Would Taylor? I can't imagine any of the rest of this happening if Carrick hadn't moved here. Maybe it still would have happened, but differently. I don't know.

“Hey,” Kate says, jarring me from my thoughts. “We'll figure all of this out, okay? I promise.”

I can't really imagine how, but knowing that she and I have found some peace gives me just a tiny little bit of hope.


	57. Just Friends

Even though she ends up falling asleep on my couch for a while, Kate doesn't spend the entire night. I don't have an extra bedroom to speak of—the guest room is such a mess that the kids just slept in my room—and I can't let her sleep on the couch all night, so eventually I do have to wake her up and send her home. I can tell she's anxious to go, anyway, even if she doesn't really want to deal with Natalie. The longer she stays away, the more she's just prolonging the inevitable.

The whole evening spent with Kate feels unreal. When I wake up the next morning, the nearly empty baggie of weed and the scattered dirty plates are proof that it wasn't a dream, though. It was real. Like everything else in my life, it makes no sense at all. But at least this was one good thing in a sea of horrible things.

It isn't enough to totally cheer me up, but it's something.

I take my time cleaning the apartment up before I head to the studio. I'm not a tidy person by any means; it's just a delaying tactic because I really don't want to see Taylor or anyone else today. I don't have anything to say to Taylor, and apparently, I no longer have Carrick to reply on, either. If it weren't for the knowledge that I _have_ to go, because this is my livelihood we're talking about, I would probably just stay in my apartment all day. Or all week. Or all month.

But I can't do that. I have to go to work.

I waste enough time that once I finally make it to the studio, everyone else is already there working on something. The office is pretty busy, which is actually a good thing. Despite my desire to be a hermit, being surrounded by lots of people is a good thing. It makes the chances of ever being alone with someone—Taylor or Carrick, for example—pretty low. Getting lost in a crowd is a good thing sometimes.

Our office is never really _crowded_ , though, and I've barely even made it back to the studio before I hear Carrick calling out my name. Would it be horrible of me to just ignore him?

I can't ignore him, though. Almost in spite of myself, I spin around to face him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can we talk?” He asks. “I feel like... I don't know, maybe I didn't make myself clear the other day.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I think you were very clear, actually.”

“No, but... I didn't really say what I meant. Or I did, but I've been thinking about it and there's more I need to say.”

“I don't know if I want to hear it,” I reply.

Carrick doesn't say anything. He just gives me this _look_. Even from the other end of the hallway, I can see the sadness in his eyes and I'm powerless to refuse it.

I sigh. “Alright, let's talk.”

“I'm going out for a smoke, if you wanna join me.”

I don't, because I don't smoke cigarettes and he knows that, but if it's the only place we can be alone then I don't really have a choice but to follow behind him as he makes his way to the back of the studio and into the alley behind it.

At first, neither one of us speaks. I just watch silently as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He takes a few long drags on it and some of the tension seems to fade from his shoulders and his face. 

“So,” I say after he exhales a big cloud of smoke. “You wanted to talk?”

“I did,” he replies. “What I said the other day... it's not that I didn't mean it, but it wasn't fair.”

“What do you mean?”

Carrick takes another drag, then sighs. “I mean, I knew from the beginning that you weren't mine for the taking. You're still married. You still wear your ring, you know. Even if nothing had ever happened with you and Taylor... I was never going to come first in your life, and I knew it. And I thought I was okay with it. At least I used to know it, but I guess somewhere along the way I forgot, or I convinced myself it wasn't true.”

“I'm not sure how that makes a difference in what you said the other day,” I reply.

“I guess it doesn't,” he says with a shrug. “But none of that... none of how I feel is your fault. I'm not blaming you for not throwing away everyone else in your life to be with me. Because I know you can't. I know you won't. And I'd never ask you to.”

“So what does any of that actually mean?” I ask.

“Nothing, I suppose. It doesn't change what I said, really. I mean... we're still not going to be together, are we? And I'm trying to be okay with that.”

I take a step closer to him. “But _why_ aren't we? I know you think you won't come first, but... I still chose to be with you, didn't I? Doesn't that count for anything?”

“Not hardly enough,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then what can I do? What _will_ be enough?”

Carrick just gives a sad shake of his head. “I don't know. Maybe nothing. I'm not going to ask you to put me before Taylor or even Kate. I don't think you can. And that's fine.”

“Kate and I are getting divorced. You know that.”

“And Taylor? Can you really tell me you're going to end things with him?”

“No,” I reply. “I thought you weren't going to ask me to.”

“I didn't. But in case you've forgotten, someone else is. Someone who has a hell of a lot less respect for your privacy and happiness than I do.”

I can't help rolling my eyes. “Yeah, well, Nat's gonna do whatever she wants to do. I'm not sure it even matters what Taylor and I do.”

“So you're just going to ignore her threats?” He asks, one eyebrow raised.

“I don't know,” I reply. “Maybe. I'm not sure Tay has decided yet. Neither choice really seems that great... it's just a lose/lose situation, no matter what we do.”

Carrick nods. “But no matter what you do, he's always going to come first in your mind and in your heart. You know it, and I know it.”

“He always has,” I admit. “Before Kate... before anyone. But it didn't _matter_ until now. I never thought anything would really happen. And if nothing had happened with him... I don't know. I don't know what that would have meant for you and me.”

“It doesn't matter. I can't compete with even the idea of him.”

“So what do you want from me?” I ask.

Carrick sighs. “Just... nothing, I guess. Just to be friends, but to understand why this is all hard for me.”

“It's not exactly easy for me,” I huff.

“I know, I know,” he replies. “But we can be friends, right? We can do that. We did that for a long time, before I was stupid enough to want more.”

“It wasn't stupid. I just got in over my head... wanting more than I can handle. Being selfish.”

Carrick reaches for my arm. “Don't blame yourself, either. That's not what I wanted you to do.”

“It's probably what I'm gonna do,” I admit. With a sheepish look, I ask, “Can I have a cigarette?”

“You don't smoke.”

I shrug. “Maybe I'm going to start.”

“Maybe,” he replies, then hands me a cigarette.

It's not the first time I've smoked, but I definitely prefer weed. Cigarettes just make me jittery and the lingering smell is a lot worse than even the cheapest weed I've ever smoked. But it feels like just one tiny way I can stay connected to Carrick when he's slipping away from me. At least we can share this moment together, even if we do nothing more than smoke our cigarettes in silence.

But the silence can't last long. I've only taken a few drags when the back door opens and Taylor walks out.

“Oh,” he says, glancing back and forth between the two of us. “There you guys are.”

With little more than a second glance our way, he leans up against the side of the building and lights his own cigarette. I look at Carrick and he just offers me a shrug. Taylor has apparently decided to ignore the two of us entirely, and I'm not sure what to make of that. 

It's not an uncomfortable silence between the three of us, though. We all just stand there, smoking our cigarettes, lost in our own thoughts. It's not so bad. It's definitely the most comfortable I've been around both of them together in weeks. 

So it isn't ideal. It never will be. But why can't it just be _easy_?

I know life never is, but it feels like there ought to be an easier solution to this whole clusterfuck of a situation. It's selfish to even consider, but why can't I have both of them? Even if Natalie hadn't discovered us, I'm not convinced Taylor ever could or would have given me all that I need. But Carrick could. Even if he wasn't in first place, is second really that bad? I think we could make it work.

But none of that is reasonable. I have to choose. Worse yet, the choice has been made for me. I can't have Taylor _or_ Carrick.

Taylor sucks down his cigarette quickly, while at some point Carrick must have lit up a second. With barely more than a little glance back at us, Taylor walks back into the building. It's like he wasn't even there at all, and I'm left just staring at the spot he vacated. I'm sure this is a reflection of his entire existence in my life, but I don't feel like getting into metaphors right now.

“Zac?” Carrick says softly. “We should probably get back to work.”

I nod weakly. “Yeah... okay.”

He reaches for my hand, then quickly drops it. I can still feel the warmth of him on my flesh, though. There's so much more of an impression of him left behind than Taylor. 

“You'll be alright,” he says. “We'll figure this all out, whether we're together or not. I'm not abandoning you, Zac. I'm not.”

It's hard to believe him, when he _is_ putting this distance between us, but the look in his eyes is sincere. We may not be together, but I haven't lost him entirely... yet.


	58. Date

I'm finding lately that I really have no one to rely on. It's not a bad thing. It sucks, at times, to realize that I can't just lean on people and expect them to carry me through. But I'm an adult. I'm almost twenty seven years old. I should be able to rely on myself, and slowly, I'm learning how. It sucks to have to learn that lesson the hard way, but I suppose I had to learn it eventually.

Today's lesson is how to deal with lawyers and your soon-to-be-ex-wife.

It's not so bad, really. We had a prenup, not because either of us really thought we needed one, but because my father the businessman insisted upon it. I think the Taylor and Natalie situation made him paranoid; no one in our family would have admitted it, I'm sure, but they didn't trust her. It wouldn't have surprised me if they had insisted upon a paternity test, too, but it never came to that. But all of us had fairly standard prenups drawn up as a legality more than anything we ever expected to really use.

I'm not even sure why Kate and I really need to be here for this. This entire meeting feels like something our lawyers could have done without us. Except for the addition of two children and a house, nothing has changed since the paperwork was written. All we're doing, as far as I can tell, is rehashing things that are already set in stone.

Is being a responsible adult _always_ this boring?

I can't help making little faces at Kate when the lawyers aren't looking, nudging her under the table and just generally being a childish pest. It makes her laugh, though. Is this flirting? It feels like flirting. I don't _want_ to flirt with her, but it's nice to just be friendly again. It's strange how now that we're not spending every day together, we actually enjoy each others' company.

At some point, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out discretely under the table and see a new text from Kate. I'm not sure how she managed to do that without me noticing, but she did.

_Stop being a pest :P_

I have to cover my mouth and pretend to cough to cover up my laugh. With my other hand, I type a reply.

_No. This meeting is boring as hell._

Kate shakes her head and smiles. I can barely see her hands moving under the table, and a moment later, my phone buzzes again.

_Don't curse._

_You're not my boss :P_

This is ridiculous. We're definitely flirting now. Aren't we? 

_Do you want to get lunch after this? I don't think it will take much longer & Nat isn't expecting me back for at least an hour_

When I look up at Kate, she offers me a sheepish smile and a shrug. She knows how weird this is too, and somehow that makes it okay. This might not be the typical divorce, but that's fine by me. I would much rather be friendly, even flirty, than be stuck in the sort of marriage Taylor and Natalie are stuck in. At least Kate and I can stand to be in the same room with each other now.

_Yeah, okay. Dilly Deli?_

Kate's only reply is a tiny nod and a smile. To my surprise, I find it easy to give her a smile of my own back. Lately, I haven't had much to smile about at all, but right now, it's all too easy. The fact that it's because of Kate is strange.

The meeting drags on for a while longer, but now I'm in a better mood, so I really don't care. Once our lawyers decide we've accomplished enough for the day, we're dismissed with a few handshakes and some discussion of what still needs to happen. Even if it's boring as hell, I'm glad this can all be settled in this conference room rather than a court room.

Finally, we're sent on our way. Since we drove here separately, we drive to Dilly Deli separately, too. I have to go in to the office after this anyway. As I drive to the deli and search for a parking spot, I try not to think about how I'm going to tell people that I had a lunch date with my wife. Then I realize that I don't have to. Having lunch with my own wife is perfectly normal, and it's no one's business anyway.

So why do I feel kind of guilty about doing it?

I practically have to give myself a pep talk as I walk from the parking lot into the deli. Kate's already here, of course, because she's always been more punctual than me. She's already seated at a table in the back, and the smile on her face as I walk up still takes me by surprise. It doesn't matter that we've been getting along better for over a week now; I don't think I'll ever get used to this easy friendship between us.

“Hey,” Kate says as I take my seat. “I, umm, I went ahead and ordered a BLT for you. That's what you usually get, right?”

It shouldn't surprise me that she knows my usual order, but it does, and it only serves to make me feel like shit. But at the same time, I have no doubt that she's ordered a Caesar salad and iced tea for herself. I _do_ know my wife, even though it feels like we've spent years living separate lives in the same house. When our orders arrive moments later, I'm proven right. 

We eat mostly in silence, occasionally making small talk. The conversation isn't all that awkward, though. During a lull in it, I remember the date with Carrick, where we sat just a few tables away. At the time I wasn't even sure it _was_ a date, but looking back I'm sure, and I'm ashamed of how much I led him on and strung him along. It wasn't intentional, but it still happened. I still did it, and I can't undo it.

“Zac? Are you alright?”

Great. I've just been staring off into space like a freak. I snap back to reality to find Kate frowning at me, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I'm fine. Just got lost in thought.”

“Well, it is uncharted territory for you,” she replies with a tiny smirk.

“Har, har,” I reply, but a genuine smile creeps across my face at the realization that we can actually joke around together now. 

Kate's expression turns a little more concerned again. “Seriously, though. I just worry about you.”

“Worry about me? Why?”

“The divorce, and everything that's happening with Taylor and Nat, too. I know that's got to put a strain on the band, and on you. You know I don't want to hurt you, right? It just feels like I'm piling more stuff onto you, stressing you out even more. And I don't want to do that.”

“Kate, no...” I reply, shaking my head. “I mean, yeah. I'm pretty stressed out, but you can't blame yourself for that. I'm part of why this marriage didn't work out, too.”

She nods. “I know, but you still have a breaking point, and I can't help worrying that you're close to it. You're losing weight, you know. And you don't look like you've slept in ages.”

“I don't feel like I have, either,” I admit.

“I just see you like this, and... it doesn't matter _what_ Nat says, I worry about you.”

“W-what... what Nat says?” I repeat.

Kate's eyes go wide and she shakes her head quickly. “Forget I said that. It's nothing.”

“No,” I reply, my voice coming out so loud and forceful that I blush and glance around to make sure I haven't caused a scene. “What is she saying about me?”

Kate shakes her head again, not meeting my stare. “It's... it's nothing, honestly. I mean, she never says anything specific. Just that I shouldn't trust you, that it's a good thing I'm 'getting out' now, and so on. Please don't take it personally, Zac. She's just turning her anger at Taylor toward anyone close to him.”

It's a reasonable explanation for Nat's behavior, but I know it isn't the real reason. She's taunting Kate, dangling a carrot in front of her and hoping she bites so that Nat can finally telling her the awful truth. What has Taylor done to piss Nat off so badly that she's going to break her own rules and spill the beans without any more provocation? Whatever he's done, it must have been awful, but I can't even get him to talk enough to find out what it was.

“Yeah,” I manage to choke out. “I'm sure that's all it is. You know how she is. No offense... I know she's your best friend.”

Kate nods. “And that means I know better than anyone else how crazy she can be. And I've made excuses for it before, but she's killing me now, Zac. I don't know how much more of her I can take.”

“Can't you just send her away?”

“Where, back to Taylor?” She asks, then shakes her head. “I don't know what he's done, but I don't think he deserves that. Maybe I can talk her into staying with her mom. I've been dropping hints, but it hasn't worked yet.”

“I think packing her bags and putting them by the door might be a good hint to drop,” I offer with a grin.

Thankfully, that comment makes Kate laugh and lightens the mood so that we're able to spend the rest of the meal making small talk again. We talk about the songs the band is working on, our plans to tour Australia, and the pre-schools she's looking at for Shepherd. It's all casual, but it's good. Nothing is forced, and before I know it, we've talked through the entire hour or so that we had before I was due at the studio.

When we part ways, it's like old friends. We hug in the parking lot and I sit in my truck for a moment, watching her drive away, almost sad to see her go. Not because I miss being with her, but I just miss her. I like the time we spend together now, and knowing I have to go face Taylor and Carrick now makes parting ways with Kate even harder.

But I have to. 

Once her car is out of sight, I finally force myself to put my truck into drive and cover the short distance between Dilly Deli and our office. The parking spots out front are nearly all full, and sure enough, Taylor's SUV is amongst them. I couldn't help saying a little prayer that he wouldn't show up, but he always does. He may be late, but he never skips out on work. Right now, it's the one good thing I can say about him.

The first person I see once I walk inside the studio is Carrick. He glances up from the desk he was bent over, and I see a dozen different emotions flash across his face before it lands on something resembling concern.

“Did the lawyer thing run late? You had that today, right?” He asks.

I nod, vaguely surprised that he remembered that was today. I hardly even remember telling him about it. “I mean, no, it didn't run late. But we did have it today. We, uh... we had lunch together afterward and lost track of time.”

“You did?” Carrick asks, his eyes widening.

“Yeah,” I reply, giving him a smile. “It was good. We're actually getting along now.”

He returns my smile, and it looks genuine. “That's good, Zac. That's really good. I guess now that you guys aren't together, you can breathe a little.”

“Yeah, it's funny. Now that we don't _have_ to try to get along, we can. I guess maybe we're just better as friends.”

“Sometimes it works out that way,” he replies.

“Yeah... sometimes,” I say.

As I watch Carrick fiddling with the case of guitar picks he's found, something dawns on me. Kate and I might be better off as just friends, but _just friends_ isn't what I think Carrick and I should be. It isn't what I want us to be, at least. Whether we're better as friends or lovers... I don't know. But I really hope it's lovers, and I hope I can find a way to convince Carrick of that.


	59. Suspicious

A few days pass fairly uneventfully. I can't complain about being bored, though, because it's better than most of the alternatives. I would much rather things be going smoothly and boringly than still being a total clusterfuck. 

Kate lets the kids stay with me a few more times, mostly because dealing with them _and_ Natalie is a little more than she can handle. If she thinks I'm stressed right now, I don't think she's far behind being just as frayed and ready to break. That's why I can't say no any time she wants to bring the kids over to spend the night—that and the fact that I miss them, of course. I don't like that it's taken a divorce for me to find the paternal part of me, but I'm glad that I finally have.

When she texts me that she's on the way, I preheat the oven and toss a couple frozen pizzas in. Not the best dinner ever, but I did at least buy some fancy organic brand. She can't complain too much about that. Whether the kids eat something healthy at every meal is probably not all that high on Kate's priority list right now anyway. 

In fact, the second I let her in the apartment, she takes a deep breath and gives me a hopeful smile. “Do you think there's enough pizza to go around? Someone 'doesn't have an appetite,' so I just feel like a jerk every time I try to cook.”

“Well, I was going to eat the whole second one myself, but...” I reply, patting my stomach. “I think we both know I don't need it.”

Kate rolls her eyes and gives me a shove. “I told you, you're losing weight. But if you don't mind...”

“Not at all,” I reply, then turn to the kids, who are already dumping out their backpacks into the floor. “You can play later, guys. Dinner's almost ready; go wash your hands.”

While the kids get ready to eat, Kate helps me take the pizzas out and plate them. I grab a beer for myself from the refrigerator, then hold out another to her and raise an eyebrow. To my surprise, she nods eagerly and snatches it from my hand. 

“You just get the one,” I tease. “Don't want you driving back home drunk.”

She just rolls her eyes and ignores me as she hands the kids their plates. Once they're settled into the couch, she plops down at the bar and takes a long swig of her beer. I have to blink a few times just to convince myself this is really the woman I married... and the one I'm close to divorcing. 

“Your pizza's going to get cold,” she remarks, smiling a little.

I just shake my head and take a bite of the pizza. We eat in silence for a few minutes before I can find the nerve to ask, “So is you-know-who still driving you crazy?”

Kate nods. “I don't know how much longer I can take it, Zac. She can't just stay with me forever, can she?”

“It looks like she's going to try,” I reply. “Do you think... I mean, is she going to leave Taylor?”

“Nope,” she replies, shaking her head. “It's like she wants her cake and to eat it too. She doesn't want to be with him, she practically hates him, but she won't divorce him, either. I just... I don't understand why. What is she trying to gain?”

It makes no sense, but it's some sort of power play. It has to be. She just wants Taylor to know that she still has him by the balls and she's not going anywhere. I'm sure that message extends to me, too. She wants us both to never forget that she could ruin our lives. Why she has to drag Kate into it, though... I just don't know and I don't like it. 

“Zac?” Kate asks, snapping me out of my trance. “Your phone is buzzing...”

“Oh,” I reply, glancing around the counter for a moment before I find my phone. Sure enough, it is buzzing to let me know about a new text. The name on the screen surprises me. _Carrick_. I stare at it in disbelief for a moment before opening and reading the text.

_Haven't seen you for a few days, just wanted to make sure you were alright. Think you can get me the hook up on some fresh bud? And maybe we can talk... :)_

Although the rest of the message is fairly innocent, that smiley face at the end gives me hope. I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I can't help being happy that Carrick wants to get together with me under any pretenses at all, even just friendly ones.

“What are you smiling about?” Kate asks.

I hadn't even realized I was, but now that I know it, I can't get the smile to go away. “Nothing...”

“Uh huh,” she replies. “Must have been some text...”

“Oh, it was just Carrick,” I manage to cough out, hating how suspicious I sound. But surely Kate would never suspect...

“What did he want?” She asks, her voice as neutral as if she were asking me to pass her a napkin.

“Umm, just... just to hang out,” I reply.

Kate leans in and lowers her voice. “You know you can tell me if you guys are going to get stoned. I don't think I have any room to judge you for it anymore without being a total hypocrite.”

I stare at her for a moment, not entirely believing that she means what she says. But I don't see a lie in her face. I don't understand how this shift in our relationship has happened at all, but now it seems I actually have her permission to smoke—not that I need it now that we're not together, I suppose.

Finally, I nod. “Yeah, he... he wanted to know if I could get him some, and I guess we'll hang out and smoke it.”

“See, was that so hard?” She teases. “You don't have to hide it from me now.”

“It feels like I should, though. I know, that's bad. But you never liked it, and I _know_ you never liked Carrick...”

Kate frowns slightly. “It's not... it wasn't anything against him personally, I guess. Just the fact that you had a friend you could share things with that you had to hide from me. We shouldn't have had secrets, you know? And I'm not... mad at you for that. I just wished we'd had more in common, I guess.”

My mouth goes dry as she speaks, and all I can do in response is nod. If Kate had any clue about the secrets I'm keeping from her... smoking a little weed with Carrick _really_ won't seem like a big deal. 

“I'm sorry, I'm not trying to upset you,” she adds. “I just think I'm seeing things more clearly now, you know? Whether or not you smoke pot just seems like such a non-issue now. I hate that I let it bother me so much.”

Once again, I just nod.

“You should probably text him back,” Kate says.

“Oh,” I reply. “Yeah, I guess... umm, I guess I will.”

There's so much I want to say to Carrick, and so much that I don't dare say while Kate is sitting just a few feet away. Even if she isn't trying to read what I type, it still feels wrong to say a lot of the things I'm thinking with her so near. I don't even know if Carrick would want to hear those things anyway, so I just type the most neutral response I can come up with.

_Yeah I can hook you up. Maybe tomorrow night? I'll txt and let you know_

Kate eyes me after I finish typing and set my phone down, but she doesn't ask what I said to him. I know she's dying to, though. I can just see it on her face that she's curious. It occurs to me that she might be _jealous_. Does she want to smoke with me again? I'm fine with that, but not if Carrick is here, not when he and I have so many things to talk about that I really, really don't want Kate to know.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes again and I hate the way I jump to answer it like pathetic puppy dog clamoring for a treat.

_Tomorrow's good, just lemme know. I do want to see you btw, not just your drugs ;)_

He's definitely flirting. There's no other way to interpret that, and as soon as I realize it, I also realize that I'm blushing. If Kate wasn't suspicious already, she has to be now. There's no possible way I can play this cool. How did I ever hope to keep any of my secrets?

“So,” she says, clearing her throat. “You guys making plans to get stoned?”

I have to laugh at how silly that sounds coming out of Kate's mouth. “Yeah, yeah that's... that's exactly what we were doing. And it is _so_ weird to just tell you that.”

“I want you to be honest with me, though,” she replies. “And I'll be honest with you. Not that I have anything to be honest about right now. But I mean... this is what we should have been doing all along. Talking about things. Maybe it's too late to start, but...”

“But you're right. We should be. And we should have been all along.” I'm just parroting her words. Even though she _is_ right, I know I can't be completely honest with her. Maybe I can be a little bit more honest, but I know where to draw the line. 

Kate glances over at the kids, who have been entirely oblivious to our conversation, then back at me. “He's not coming over tonight, is he?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “You know I wouldn't do that with the kids around. He's coming over tomorrow.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” she says. With a sigh, she downs the rest of her beer. “I should probably go, though. I appreciate you letting me hang around as long as I have.”

“I'm not gonna kick you out, Katie.”

She frowns. “I know, that's not what I meant. Just... ugh, I just dread going back and dealing with Nat. You know I'm stalling.”

“Stall all you want,” I reply. “I don't blame you at all.”

She lets out a surprised laugh at that, then covers her mouth like she's embarrassed. Even though she doesn't really know the half of how awful her best friend really is, it feels weird to be talking about her. I feel a little twinge of guilt at the secrets I'm keeping; if Kate really knew just how bad Nat was, she would never—but no. In order for her to know that, she would also have to know the truth about me and Taylor. There's no way to expose Nat without exposing myself, and I think that's exactly what she's counting on.

Every time I think about our situation, I realize just a little more about how devious my brother's wife truly is.

“You look like you need to get some rest,” Kate says, reaching across the counter to touch my arm. “Get some sleep. And make sure the kids get in bed soon.”

“I will,” I reply, nodding absently. My mind is still elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the monster Kate's going home to.

“Hey,” Kate says, drawing my attention back to her. “You'll be alright. Everything is going to be alright.”

I wish I could return her hopeful smile, but I can't. For every small reason I can find to be happy, there are ten reasons not to be. If only Kate had any clue... 

But she can't. She might have more of a suspicion that something is wrong than I would like for her to have, but she can't know the truth. Somehow, I have to make sure that she never does. I just don't know how.


	60. Let Go

Even though I’d planned to drop the kids back off with Kate the next day, it gave me a built in excuse for being late to the office. It’s all too easy to make an extra trip to one of my dealer friends before heading to the office. It isn’t much of a detour, since I’m already going out of my way to drop off the kids, and anyway, I don’t really mind going a little out of my way for Carrick.

I’m sure there are plenty of things I won’t do for Carrick, but I haven’t really found them yet. It isn’t like he’s asked that much of me, anyway. If he ever truly asks me to choose between him and Taylor, that might be a problem. But anything else, anything simpler than that? I don’t even have to think twice about doing whatever it is for him.

When I finally make it to the office, just a few minutes before lunch time, no one even bats an eyelash at how late I am. That just furthers my theory that we’re slipping away and losing touch with the band and each other, but I don’t know how to stop it. Maybe it’s my fault. I certainly feel like I’m the one who set us on this disastrous course, even though it was all three of us who decided that having Everybody Else record for our label would be a great idea. None of us could have known then that it would be a part of what unraveled our entire lives.

But then again, maybe I’m being melodramatic and they all just expected me to be running late because they know I was watching my kids last night. I don’t know. I’m beginning to suspect that I over-analyze everything and make it worse than it already is.

I decide that since everyone else seems to be ignoring me, the only thing I can do is ignore them right back. It doesn’t make a bit of difference, but it makes me feel better, in a childish sort of way. Of course, there’s one person I can never ignore, no matter how much I want to or how hard I try.

Taylor, of course.

He’s standing idly by his desk when I walk in, like he knows he’s supposed to be there but he can’t really remember why or even think of something to do to look like he’s busy. His eyes are just staring off into the distance, and he doesn’t even see me at first. It’s kind of chilling, really. His eyes are so empty that I’m not sure he would even see me if he looked right at me.

“Hey, Tay,” Ike calls out as he bursts into the room, practically knocking me over. I guess he didn’t see me either. The commotion causes Taylor to look up, but just as I predicted, his eyes remain emotionless. Ike is oblivious to it all. ‘Oh, Zac. You’re here. We’re just about to call in a lunch order, so I can take yours too if you want.”

“Yeah, that’s fine… just whatever, my usual,” I mumble, unable to tear my eyes away from Taylor’s.

Taylor just nods, which Ike seems to understand, although I’m not sure how a nod can pass for a lunch order. Whatever. It gets Ike out of the room, at least. Although with the way Taylor is acting, I think I would rather spend time with my oldest brother. At least he might actually speak to me.

We stand there in silence for a while, but I really can’t stand it much longer without exploding. I’m too impatient for Taylor’s weirdness, so finally I take a few cautious steps closer to him and say, “Tay…”

And that’s as far as I get, because I really have no clue what to say to him right now. He’s so completely baffling, more than he’s ever been before. I’ve seen him at some pretty low points, times when I didn’t think he was exaggerating at all about wanting to drive his car off a cliff or slit his wrists. I never knew how to pull him back then, but I wanted to. I always wanted to save him from himself. Now he’s so far gone, his emotions such a complete mystery to me, that I don’t even know what I want to do for him… if anything.

I’ve never felt so far away from him, yet we’re standing in the same room. It’s terrifying.

“Just… just leave me alone. Leave it alone, Zac,” he finally replies, shaking his head. His eyes are still almost entirely empty, but there’s something there… something I can’t place.

“I don’t know if I can,” I say, sounding like a pitiful, weak little child.

His face hardens then, as if just to prove to me that he could be even more emotionless. His icy cold eyes bore into me as he says, “Well, you need to learn how. You can’t have everything you want, Zac. No one can.”

With that, he’s done. He pushes past me and walks out of the office, like he’s suddenly remembered some important purpose he had far away from me. But I know that’s not true. He’s just trying to get away from me, even if it means he ends up standing pointlessly somewhere else in the office. 

As for me, I don’t have any purpose either. Maybe not at all, but definitely not right at this moment. Besides, Taylor has left me too stunned to move, so I end up just standing on the spot in our office. I don’t know how long I stay like that, not moving at all, maybe not even blinking. I’m pretty sure I don’t look as emotionless and blank as Taylor did, though, because I feel seconds away from a complete meltdown. Someone needs to come along soon and peel me up off the floor, because I’m definitely going to become one with it very, very soon.

Before that happens, though, someone does walk in. Not just anyone--Carrick. Of course it would be him.

“Zac? Did you start smoking that stuff without me?” He asks, his laughter dying off the longer he looks at me. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

His tone of voice has such an urgency now that I hate myself for worrying him so much. I shake my head. “It’s nothing. There’s no emergency or anything. Just Taylor being Taylor.”

“And what did ‘Taylor being Taylor’ do this time?” He asks, not even trying to hide the venom in his voice. His feelings for Taylor, it seems, aren’t quite as mixed as mine, but why would they be?

“He just told me to let go, to leave it alone. And it’s not like it’s the first time he’s told me that nothing is going to happen between us…” I trail off, my voice cracking a little. “So why can’t I do it? Why can’t I just let go?”

“Because he’s your brother.”

At first I want to punch Carrick for pointing out the obvious, but then I realize how right he is. This isn’t like a normal breakup, where if you’re lucky, you’ll never have to see that person again. Or if you do, you can act like old friends, catch up and then be on your way. We have to work together and _live_ together as part of the same family. There’s no escaping him. There are strings tying us together that neither of us can cut, no matter how much we may want to sometimes.

If I thought the way Taylor stared at me was terrifying, it’s nothing compared to the absolute horror that descends on me as I realize that I really will never, ever escape this.

Although I don’t actually cry, my whole body shakes with these awful, silent sobs. Carrick wraps me up in his arms and just holds me there, and even though he’s so tiny and seemingly frail, he feels so strong right now. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s the only thing keeping me upright. And that’s true not just right now, but in general.

But what have I ever done for him? I can’t think of a single thing. I couldn’t even manage to pick up any weed for him.

At that thought, I pull back and give him a sheepish look. “I, umm, I didn’t get the stuff. He said maybe not until tomorrow or the next day…”

Carrick just shrugs. “S’no big deal. I can wait. We’ve got bigger problems than not being able to smoke for a day or two.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Carrick?” I ask, managing a slight laugh.

He chuckles, but his eyes are still full of concern, and somehow it only makes me feel guilty for not just being _better_ to him. I have to try, and I’m not just talking about the weed. Before I can vocalize those thoughts, Carrick brushes back my hair and says, “Seriously, it’s alright. Just let me know when and I’ll be there. And that’s in general. You get the weed, I’ll be there. You just need me, I’ll be there. But you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding. “I know that. And if you… need me…”

Carrick nods and smiles. “You got my back, I know.”

The look in his eyes says that he really believes that. He has more faith in me than I do. I guess one of us ought to believe in me, and I’m glad he does. If he can watch me fuck everything in my life up over and over again and still see some good in me, then it must really be there.

“Do you think…” I begin, then bite my lip and frown. “Do you think maybe you can come over and stay with me for a while? I’ll stock up and we’ll just have a big party.”

“Haven’t you been keeping your kids a lot?”

I shrug. “Well, yeah, but… I mean, just for a few days. I just feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I just want to see you, okay? You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”

The look on his face makes me really regret asking that question. 

“I’m sorry, nevermind, you don’t have to--”

“Hey, no,” he replies. “I haven’t been ignoring you, it’s just been… things have been kind of crazy, haven’t they? But if you want me to come over for a few days, I will.”

“Just a few days,” I echo, even though the truth is I’d like for him to just move in and stay. But I can’t ask him for that.

Can I?

Of course not. It’s not like we’re even… together. I don’t even know for sure if that’s what I want, although I’m beginning to suspect that it is. But if I’m not sure, then maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m overthinking everything again, because it feels like I’m just going around in circles. For now, I’ll stick with what I know for certain, and that’s this: Taylor wants me to let go. Carrick will be there for me no matter what.

When I put it that way, it’s not hard to figure out which of them I should cling to and which of them I should, well, let go. I’m just not sure that knowing that is going to make it easier to actually do.


	61. Back and Forth

After our long day at the office, I go home and begin calling up all of my sketchy friends again. It takes a while, but I finally manage to find someone who assures me that if I drop by in an hour, they'll have what I need waiting for me. 

When I drive away from the guy's house, my shiny, clean truck looking out of place in that neighborhood, I wonder when I became this guy. When did I go from a casual smoker to someone making shady drug deals in neighborhoods where he probably needs to carry a gun? It isn't me. Or is it? Nothing in the last few months has felt like _me_ , but when I remember that I'm doing this for Carrick... it gets a little bit closer to okay.

It keeps feeling okay for most of the drive home, but that drive involves passing by our office. Taylor's car is still parked outside, and as soon as my eyes land on it, that feeling vanishes just as quickly as it came. I'm slowly coming to a strange realization. I love Taylor. I know I do, and I know I always will. But it's not the sort of love that feels good. I can pinpoint the last time he brought me happiness, and it felt like nothing else in the world, but it faded. The pain he causes me more often is even deeper, deeper than that happiness can probe. 

So why do I _want_ him? Why do I want something that causes me so much anguish? That's a question I can't answer.

Putting aside the questions best that I can, I shove one hand into the pocket of my hoodie that holds the twenty I bought for Carrick and another twenty for myself, and speed on back to my apartment. As soon as I'm inside, I toss the weed on the counter and pull my cell phone out to send Carrick a quick text. He's bought himself a little moped to speed around town on—because his presence wasn't conspicuous enough in Tulsa, I suppose—and he promises he'll be at my apartment in just a few minutes.

Even a few minutes is too long for me.

I waste no time packing a bowl and rolling a few joints while I wait for him; it gives me something else to focus my mind so I don't go insane during the grand total of seventeen minutes it takes Carrick to brave the traffic and ring my buzzer. 

“You got the goods after all,” Carrick remarks when I open the door.

“Yeah,” I reply, breathless like I've been running laps around the apartment instead of just sitting there waiting for the arrival of my not-boyfriend. “I, umm, made a few more phone calls. Finally found someone who wasn't out.”

“Good deal,” he says, then strolls right into the apartment like he owns it, like he's been here a billion times before.

I wish he had been. I wish he'd never leave.

While he settles onto the couch, I grab my lighter and the joints I meticulously rolled while seated at the island. Carrick plucks one of the joints from my hand and turns it over in his fingers a few times, before finally cracking a smile.

“Not bad,” he finally offers, then sticks the joint between his lips and raises an eyebrow. 

I know what he wants, and like anything else, I'm more than willing to give it to him. I cup his chin with one hand to steady it—and because I can't resist an opportunity to touch him—and bring my lighter up to the joint with the other hand. I watch and feel Carrick's cheeks hollow as he sucks in. With a satisfying crackle, the joint catches fire and a serene smile crosses his face as he continues to draw the first hit from it.

Once he's satisfied with the hit he's taken, he passes the joint to me. His eyes are heavily lidded as he watches me take a draw on it, and something about his expression makes getting high an even more sensual, even sexual, experience than it usually is. As if I needed any more reasons to love my growing drug habit.

As we pass the joint, then the bowl, back and forth, the room grows hotter and hotter—a side effect of both the drug and Carrick's presence, I suppose. But he feels it too, and so we both start stripping off layers of clothing. We don't stop until we're down to nothing but our boxers, and even though the room is still like a sauna, I can't resist scooting closer to him. Our legs tangle together and we take turns passing each other hits that turn into lazy kisses.

The bowl burns down to nothing but ashes and resin, and I sprawl myself across Carrick's lap while he attempts to pack it again. It takes him at least twice as long as it should, but he doesn't seem to mind the distraction, if the way he moans when I start running my fingers through his chest hair is any indication. I know I'm completely shameless and more than a little ridiculous, but I don't care. Maybe it's the weed or maybe it's just Carrick, but I feel so free right now. There's no judgment. I can say or do anything and it won't matter. 

“I love you.”

Well, maybe not _anything_. Definitely not that, judging by the way Carrick just froze.

“I mean, I...” Great, Zac. Backtrack and take it back. Tell him you _don't_ love him, because that's sure to be what he wants to hear now.

Carrick leans over me to set the bowl down on the coffee table and I brace myself for his response. I can't bring myself to move from his lap, though, so I'm stuck staring up his nose while I wait for him to let me down gently or something.

But he doesn't.

He runs his fingers through my hair and while I expect to see some sort of mixed feelings on his face, I don't, and I only feel kindness in his gentle movements. Finally, he gives me a genuine smile and asks, “Do I have to say it again? I've been telling you over and over in so many different ways... do you really not know?”

“I suppose I don't,” I reply, deciding that I can pull off dumb blonde pretty well even when I'm not chemically altered.

“Of course I love you, Zac,” he says softly. “You know that. Maybe you'll never understand what it really means for me, but you know it's true.”

I'm too far gone to contemplate what all of that really means, so I settle for smiling up at him and trailing my hand through his chest hair and up his neck, bringing it to rest on his cheek. He tilts his head into it, still smiling at me, although I could swear that's a little bit of sadness to the smile now. Maybe I'm wrong. I hope I am, because I can't understand why he would be sad right now.

“Hey,” he says lightly, pulling me from my troublesome thoughts. “Why don't you order us a pizza or something and we'll light this up. See if they can deliver a pizza in one bowl or less, hmm?”

I know he's just trying to distract me, and I am more than willing to be distracted. Carrick knows my weaknesses, and three of the biggest ones are weed, food and him. For the moment, I'm willing to ignore that the biggest one is my own brother, and I hope Carrick is ignoring it, too. I only need to press my lips to Carrick's stomach and taste his skin to push all thoughts of Taylor safely to the back of my mind.

While I'm still peppering him with kisses, Carrick lights the bowl up. After a few hits, I manage to peel myself away from him and hunt down my cell phone to order two pizzas—meat lovers for me and veggie for the guy I've just admitted to being in love with.

I probably shouldn't be so calm about the conversation Carrick and I just had, but I am. That's definitely the weed talking, because I know that was a major admission on both of our parts. But right now, with him sitting nearly naked on my couch, holding out a smoldering pipe to me... I really can't be worried about anything. 

We pass the bowl back and forth a few more times, but my heart really isn't into it. All I can focus on is the man handing that bowl to me. He may say I don't understand his feelings for me, but I'm not so sure he knows how I feel about him right now, either. Then again, maybe he does. The way he presses his hand into my chest as we share another little cloud of smoke says he just might be thinking the same thing I'm thinking.

We've still got some time before the pizzas arrive, and I decide to take full advantage of that time. I take one last hit and hold the smoke in while I set the pipe on the coffee table. Once its out of range, I pull Carrick to me and press my lips to his. When his mouth falls open against mine, I breathe the smoke out into it. My tongue follows closely behind, every part of my body aching to be as close to Carrick as possible. To that end, I push him backward on the couch, laying my body over his completely. 

The position only highlights the differences in our bodies, my feet resting somewhere along his shins and my arms straining to keep _all_ of my weight resting against him. But again, Carrick doesn't seem to mind. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything at all in the world that he does mind. When it comes to me, he seems to take almost anything I give him, even when I know what I'm giving him sucks.

Right now, though, I'm giving him all the love I tried to express earlier, and all the passion I don't have the words to say unless I set them to music. The idea of singing about him gives me a strange thrill that makes me kiss him with even more urgency and roll my hips down against his, feeling that he's just as turned on as I am.

It takes a lot of effort to slide my hand between our bodies and into his boxer briefs, but I need more. I need to touch him. I need to give to him rather than take from him, and I hope he notices and understands the difference.

I've only just wrapped my hand around him when the buzzer sounds. The pizza guy seems to be putting his entire weight against it, and as hungry as I am, pizza suddenly isn't really what I want. But this guy is insistent, so I rush to press the button that will let him into the building without bothering to speak to him. He knows which apartment to come to, and I don't trust my voice right now. Once I've done that, I grab my wallet from my pants and slip back into the wife beater Carrick managed to fling onto my tv stand. I'm still not wearing pants, the apartment reeks of pot and there's no way my boner is going away before the pizza guy makes it upstairs, but at least putting on a shirt makes me feel somehow more decent and presentable.

I keep my back turned to Carrick, because I don't trust myself not to rush back to the couch and tackle him again if I get a glimpse of him, and rock back and forth on my feet while I wait for a knock at the door. When it comes, I fling the door open, ready to shove a few bills into the guy's hand and slam the door in his face again, but I don't get the chance. There's no guy. There's no pizza.

There's only Kate.


	62. Truth

I am too stoned for this.

I am _way_ too stoned for this.

The first thing that occurs to me is to cover my junk, as though that won't make it even more obvious just what's happening here. There's a lot about me that Kate hasn't figured out before, but she's not dumb. There's no way she can look at me and Carrick right now and not figure out exactly what's going on between us.

Carrick coughs loudly and I turn around to see him giving me a pointed look. While I've been panicking, he's been pulling his clothes back on, and there's a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He holds up his lighter and says, “I think it's time for a smoke break.”

It's a ridiculous statement considering the fact that we're still surrounded by a cloud of pot smoke, but I know this is more about giving me and Kate space than actually needing a cigarette. Then again, a little nicotine doesn't sound like that bad of an idea. He nudges my shoulder lightly on his way to the door, then hugs the door frame to avoid touching Kate, who is still standing rigidly in the door way. 

I step back to let her in the apartment and for a moment, she still stands frozen, and I'm not sure she will accept my invitation at all. Finally, she does, but she still remains like a statue, in the middle of my living room.

“Katie, I...” I begin, but I can't finish the sentence. It's stupid to worry about incriminating myself when I think she's got all the evidence she needs to reach the correct conclusion.

“You know,” she says, her arms wrapped around her body like she's trying to hug herself. “It makes sense. In a way. I guess I should have seen it before now.”

“I don't... what do you mean?” I stutter out.

Kate gives me a withering look and sighs. “Are you going to deny it? Really, Zac?”

“I had considered denial,” I admit, and to my surprise and relief, Kate lets out a weak laugh.

Rather than immediately speaking again, Kate takes a few steps farther into the room. She stares at the couch for a moment before finally getting over whatever has kept her from sitting down, although she still remains just on the edge of it. I take a careful seat next to her but not too close.

“You know I came over here to see if maybe...” she trails off and laughs again, but it's not a pleasant sound. “It's just, you know, everything at home, and I thought maybe we could... I mean, I knew you were buying some for Carrick...”

“You wanted to smoke again?” I offer.

Kate nods and swallows hard. “Yeah, I... I did. I guess I should have realized, umm... what I would walk in on.”

“I really, really didn't mean for—”

“Me to find out?” She cuts in. “Yeah, I figured. Too late now.”

I sigh. “That's not what... I mean, not like that, anyway.”

“For the record, I'm not enjoying this,” Kate says, picking up my pipe and turning it over in her hand. “But like I said, I guess it makes sense in a way. I should have seen this coming.”

“Why?” I ask. “I mean, I guess I did... try to hide it, but did I not hide it well? Was it obvious?”

“Yes, because I've always been on the lookout for signs that my husband is actually gay,” Kate deadpans, then waves the pipe in my face. “Can we at least smoke this if we're really going to have this conversation?”

“I'm not—” I begin, then think better of arguing that point. “Yeah, okay. We can smoke.”

While I help Kate light the bowl and take the first hit, carefully showing her how to hold it, I consider what she just said. Am I gay? It seems stupid to be nearly twenty-seven and asking that of myself but here I am, with no answer. The way I feel about Taylor has been a part of me for so long that I never even question it; it simple _is_ and it has nothing to do with my sexuality. The way I feel about Carrick, though, is something different, something that suggests maybe I am just attracted to men.

Somehow, I'm aware that this shouldn't be such a huge revelation to me, but it is. 

I take a huge hit to help myself digest this new knowledge about my sexuality, and Kate takes the opportunity to drop another bombshell on me.

“In a way, I'm not even upset,” she says. 

I cough and sputter, sending out a cloud of pot smoke. “Y-you're not?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really. It's kind of a relief to know that maybe there was nothing I—or we—could have done to make this marriage work. Maybe we're just not... right for each other.”

“Maybe not,” I manage to squeak out.

Kate leans against me while I take another hit. “I don't mean anything bad by that. It's just that I could drive myself crazy trying to figure out why we couldn't have a normal, happy marriage, when maybe it isn't anything we did or didn't do.”

I decide not to point out that I have been cheating on her. I'm sure that thought has occurred to her, but it's getting lost in the more shocking part of all of this—namely, the fact that I'm cheating with another man.

“I guess this is what Natalie meant,” Kate mumbles.

“What?” I cough, the pipe nearly flying out of my hand.

“Well, she keeps saying you're not worth being upset over, that if I really knew you...” Kate trails off, staring wide eyed up at me. “This is what she meant, right? She found out about you and Carrick.”

For a moment, I'm speechless. She's taken the evidence in front of her and arrived at a completely logical, but completely wrong, conclusion. I can only hope I haven't been speechless too long and that I can still convince her that _this_ was the secret Natalie keeps hinting at. If I can, maybe somehow I can save my own ass.

“Yeah,” I finally reply, praying I sound believable. “Yeah, I... I guess Taylor let it slip.”

“You told Taylor?” Kate asks, and I almost wince at how hurt she sounds.

I shake my head. “N-no, he... he saw us... talking at the office and figured it out for himself.”

When did I become such a good liar? There's no hint in Kate's face that she doesn't believe me, and in a way, I hate myself for it. But she nods, like everything I've said makes sense, and I have to look away to hide my shame.

“I don't know why she thinks I'm so close-minded,” Kate says. “It's not like we don't all know about Taylor, we just pretend it never happened. We pretend a lot of things didn't happen where he's concerned and—I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk about your brother like that.”

“It's fine,” I practically whisper, because I don't trust my voice right now.

Kate's expression turns more serious. “I'm not happy that you... that you're cheating on me. I don't really want to know when this started. But if this is... what you need, and I'm not, I can't change that, can I?”

“You're being so much nicer to me than I deserve,” I say honestly, even though Kate has no way of knowing just _how_ much nicer.

She shrugs. “I've seen what anger and resentment can do to a marriage. To a person. I don't want to be like that.”

 _Like Natalie,_ she means. She doesn't need to say it.

The buzzer sounds again and this time I'm reasonably sure it's the pizza. It better be the pizza—both because the delivery has been slow and because I don't know what else to say to Kate. This time, I actually give whoever is pressing the buzzer a chance to talk, and sure enough, it's an incredibly apologetic delivery guy. Once he's on his way up to the apartment, I spin back around to see that Kate has stood up.

“I should... I should probably go,” she says. “I'm umm... I guess I'm interrupting, and Carrick has probably gone through half a pack while we've talked.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Last month you couldn't stand him, and now you're practically apologizing for interrupting us?”

“Well,” Kate replies, almost smirking. “Last month I didn't know why I was jealous of all the time you spent with him. Now I do. And somehow, knowing makes me less jealous. Now I know I'm not crazy for feeling that way, at least.”

Before my brain gets the message that my body is going to do it, my arms are outstretched toward Kate, inviting her in for a hug. She accepts the invitation, and while we embrace, I try to remember the last time we were this close. I can't.

“I'm sorry,” I mumble into her hair. “It's not that I... never meant for you to know about this, but definitely not like this. Not while it's still all so... so messy. I know I fucked this whole thing up really badly.”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah. You made some mistakes. I'm sure I have, too. But we'll get through this, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, just as someone who I really hope is holding a pizza knocks on the door.

Kate reluctantly backs away from me and allows me to open the door. I'm still only in my underwear, but I feel much less exposed now, somehow. While I'm paying for the pizza, she promises to call me in a day or two and slips away before I can do more than mumble goodbye.

Carrick slips back into the apartment nearly as soon as she's gone, the move so seamless that I wonder if he somehow planned it that way. Even with the truth out there, it feels wrong to have them in the same place. I can only imagine what it must have felt like, the air full of tension and awkwardness, when they passed in the hallway. I don't like that thought, and I shake my head to force it out.

Even though I hate being lost in my thoughts like this, I don't really mind that Carrick doesn't speak until we're back on the couch with a slice of pizza in each of our hands. After a few bites, he finally speaks.

“So,” he says. “You're alive; that's good.”

I almost smile. “Yeah, she didn't even try to kill me. She was really calm and I don't think... I don't think it was an act.”

“She's cool with this?” Carrick asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I would say understanding, not cool,” I reply. “I think a lot of things about our marriage make more sense to her now. Like, why it's over, for one.”

Carrick nods. “She's not so bad, you know. I never thought she was, even if I thought you two were the strangest couple I'd ever met.”

“The strangest, really?”

He chuckles. “Okay, second strangest. But at least you two were just mismatched. Taylor and Natalie... I could see _why_ they ended up together, and it wasn't because they stubbornly thought they were in love, like...”

“Like me and Kate,” I offer, and he nods again. “Yeah, I know. Although I do love her for the way she's handling all of this, but I know what you mean. At least she and I wanted to be married and happy together, even if we could never achieve it. At least we tried.”

“You did. Maybe you two are more like than I gave you credit for,” he replies, smirking a little.

“For all that it matters now,” I mumble, setting my pizza back down and flopping back against the couch, suddenly feeling defeated.

Carrick drops his pizza too and leans against me, an arm casually draped across my shoulder. “Hey, what's up? I thought it went well with Kate.”

“It did, I guess,” I reply. “Better than I expected. It's just... this is just one step, you know? None of this is over yet. Nothing is really okay or fixed or anything.”

“But even one step gets you closer,” he says, then nudges my cheek with his nose. “You don't really know how strong you are, do you? To have gotten this far. You'll get through this. We'll get through this.”

Those are the same words Kate said to me just a few minutes ago, and I really hope they're the truth.


	63. Path of Least Resistance

It takes a while to convince Carrick that Kate isn't going to come back and kill us both, but once I do, he once again agrees to spend a few days at my apartment. I don't dare put a date on it, because I don't want him to ever leave. If it were possible, I would just keep him here. Carrick knows that, I think, but he doesn't call me out on it.

He spends the entire weekend, but once Monday rolls around we have no excuse to stay in our little bubble anymore. We both have to go back to the studio, and so we do, making no attempt to hide the fact that we arrived together.

I've been in such a haze that although I remembered that I needed to come to the studio today, I completely forgot we were having an actual band meeting. I hate how wrapped up I've gotten in my stupid drama. But it isn't all that stupid, is it? It could rip my life apart, as I'm reminded when I walk into the conference room and see Taylor pointedly staring at his cell phone rather than meeting my eyes.

Very little that's said during the meeting actually sticks in my brain. I feel so hollow lately that I'm positive what I do hear just goes in one ear and echoes around inside me forever. The only thing that makes any impression at all is the reminder that we're going out on the road for a week starting in just two days. How did I manage to forget that? It seems impossible, but I have no memory of all these appearances we apparently have scheduled. It's like we're actually still a band or something, rather than one brother who won't speak to the other two, one who is just an empty shell of a person and one who is totally oblivious to it all living off the remains of their past success.

Maybe I'm not an empty shell. It seems this husk is full of cynicism. 

When the meeting from hell finally ends, Taylor practically sprints out of the conference room. It takes a lot of self control not to roll my eyes at him and even more down to finally break down completely. What have I done to make him so determined to never be around me? 

And how the hell are we going to survive a week on the road together?

I'm the last one to leave the conference room, choosing to ignore all the weird looks I get from everyone when I just sit there staring off into space. There's nothing for me outside this room. There's nothing for me anywhere, except maybe with Carrick, and I haven't seen him since we arrived. Once I feel a little less depressed, maybe I'll go look for him.

While I'm throwing myself this pity party, my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. I can't imagine who could be trying to contact me; nearly anyone I'd want to hear from is here except for one person, whose name I see on the screen. Kate.

_As I type this, Nat is packing to leave! Finally!!!_

I have to reread the message several times before I can even begin to believe it. Even though, I'm doubtful. My hands are actually shaking as I try to type my reply.

_Leaving? Like for good? Where is she going?_

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes again and what I see on the screen makes my stomach drop.

_Back home. She's moving in while you guys are gone but Tay knows & agreed to it._

I suppose that explains why he's ignoring me more than ever. He's finally decided to go along with Nat's plan to put distance between us. I don't understand at all. I really don't. I know she's insane, but what can she really do? And why doesn't Taylor think I'm worth fighting for? I would fight for him, but he's tied my hands. Is he completely powerless too? I have so many questions, but I know he won't answer a single one.

_I told Nat that I knew about you and Carrick btw. It just sort of slipped out – hope you're not mad._

For a moment, I stop breathing. There is no possible way Nat could have responded well to that. I may have let Kate remain in the dark, but Nat would surely waste no time telling her that wasn't my biggest secret. My fingers tremble as I type a text back to Kate.

_What did Nat say???_

It takes her longer to reply this time, which I assume means a longer message. The entire time I wait for it, my heart is pounding in my chest.

_Not much. She seemed kind of surprised, but I thought she knew. Maybe she was just surprised that I wasn't mad? Anyway, she talked to T after that & started packing to leave, so we really didn't talk about it much._

If I thought I couldn't breathe before, it's nothing compared to how I feel now. How is this even happening? Why hasn't Nat told Kate the truth, that I lied about Carrick being my big secret? She has to be playing some sort of angle, and I have no clue at all what it could be. The fact that she's moving back in with Taylor only makes it worse, but it does at least go part of the way toward explaining why he's pulling farther and farther away from me.

I want to be so, so angry with Taylor, but right now all I can feel is relief that Natalie has decided to keep my secret... for now.

My phone is still in my hands, and I realize I haven't texted Kate back. Quickly, I type:

_Let me know if she comes back or does anything else, k? I'll talk to you later when I'm not at work._

That's vague and friendly enough, I think. Hopefully it doesn't sound suspicious. I can't tell. When Kate's only reply is to tell me to have a good day at work, I breathe a sigh of relief that I haven't given myself away and finally tuck my phone back into my pocket. Now I suppose I really should go to work, even though I have no desire to see Taylor. I guess now I have a taste of how Taylor feels.

In a strange daze, I pull myself out of my chair and make my way out of the conference room. I'm moving, but I'm on autopilot, just going through the motions. That's nothing new; except for a few shining moments, I feel like I've just been coasting for months now. 

I coast along so aimlessly that I nearly run right into Carrick in the hallway. At least it's him. If I had to crash into someone in this office, he's one of the best options. 

“Hey,” I breathe out, grasping his arms to steady myself.

“Hey yourself,” he replies. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were drunk right now.”

I shake my head. “No... no, I just... got some news.”

“News about...?” He prods, a slight smile on his face. “You gotta give me more than that.”

“Well, you know, Kate knows about us. And I guess now Natalie does, too. Kate texted to apologize for telling her, which I don't even have the energy to be upset about right now, and to tell me that... Nat's moving back in with Taylor.”

Carrick stares at me for a moment, blinking rapidly. Finally, he exhales and says, “Okay, well... you had to know something like that would happen eventually, right? I mean, no offense, but Taylor's not...”

“Not what?” I ask, suddenly feeling offended and defensive. I've always been that way about Taylor, though; I can insult him but if anyone else does, it's like a knife driven straight into my chest.

“He's just not... really dependable, is he? You know he always chooses the path of least resistance. I'm not trying to insult him, but you know that's the truth.”

Carrick isn't wrong. I know that. Yet it still hurts to hear him say these things I've known about Taylor but tried my best to ignore. His words echo in my mind and I know he's right. Ignoring me, allowing Nat to move back in... this is Taylor choosing not to fight. Just like he always has. And there's no reason to think that he will ever do anything different.

Finally I nod. “Yeah, I know. You're right. I just... I guess I'm too stubborn and hopeful for my own good.”

“Maybe you are,” Carrick says. “But it's kind of what I like about you. The fact that you're still going after everything you've been through... it's a real strength. I know you feel weak, but you're not.”

All I can do in response to that is shrug.

“Come on, what's wrong now?” Carrick asks.

“We're going on the road,” I reply. “Just for a week. But it's longer than I can bear to be around Taylor when he's like this. And it's lame, I know, but I just... I don't want to be away from you.”

He sighs, pulling back from my grasp, and I know that whatever he says now is going to be something I don't want to hear. “You know we're almost done recording the album, right? Just a few more weeks to finish and then... I mean, we never planned to stay here forever. You did know that, didn't you?”

“I... I guess I did...” I stutter out because of course somewhere in the back of my mind I did know that. I had just let myself forget it, but now the truth is hitting me like a ton of bricks. “What does... I mean, you're just going to leave?”

“I'm not leaving you,” he says. “It doesn't mean this... thing... is over just because I'm not in Tulsa. I'm just saying that you'll have to rely on that strength I know you have to stand on your own a little bit more. And you can do it.”

Again all I can do is shrug. I don't believe him. I can't do this on my own. A big part of me wants to be so fucking angry with him for abandoning me, but I know that's irrational. Still, I can feel irrational anger bubbling up inside of me, threatening to spill out. When it comes out, though, I have a feeling it will be in the form of tears, not rage.

Carrick wraps me up in his arms. “We've got a few weeks before we have to worry about all of that, okay? You get through this trip and then we'll figure out the future. You think you can do that for me?”

“I'll do anything for you,” I mumble against his shoulder, not caring how stupid and cheesy it sounds.

“I know,” he says. “Ditto.”

And I believe him. It doesn't even matter that we're standing in the middle of the office, embracing in a way that clearly isn't friendly. I'm not ashamed of Carrick. Everyone who I didn't want to know about us already knows, so what reason is there to worry now? 

But there is reason to worry—lots of reasons, in fact. I know Carrick is right, though. All I can do is take it one day at a time and lean on him while I still can. After that... well, I don't really want to think about what happens after that.


	64. Accusations

Only a few days later I find myself in Halifax in yet another hotel that looks virtually indistinguishable from all the other hotels I've temporarily called home over the years. As I stand in the lobby waiting to get my key card, I have to wonder just how many hotels I've actually stayed in. Hundreds? A thousand? It's a staggering thought. I don't know what it means, but something about it actually terrifies me a little. How have I lived so many lives in just twenty six years?

All these existential thoughts are getting me nowhere. Pondering and wallowing doesn't solve anything and I know that yet I still can't seem to do anything else.

Someone hands me a key card and I accept it without a word or even a glance in their direction. I'm on autopilot now, as I have been so many times lately. Key card in hand, I make my way toward the elevator and ride it up to the floor indicated on the card. I'm halfway down the hallway before I realize that someone is trailing behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and immediately I know who is there.

Taylor. Who else could it be?

“Wait up,” he calls out. “I think we're sharing a room.”

“Of course we are,” I mumble, but I do as he says anyway. Those are, after all, the most words he's spoken to me in days, if not weeks.

I keep my back to Taylor as I open the room and haul my luggage inside. There's no reason why I can't ignore him, too. I'd like to think I'm giving him a taste of his own medicine, but sometimes I'm not sure Taylor can even feel enough for it to matter. Would he even register any sort of pain if he realized I was ignoring him? When I finally do catch a glimpse of him while putting my things away, I see that his face is mostly blank. Mostly. He's biting hard on his lip, and I know he does that when he's trying not to let his true feelings out. It's the first sign of any emotion I've seen him express in I don't even know how long.

If I'm honest, it scares me a little.

Taylor catches my eye for a second, and it's a second too long. If I thought emotionless Taylor was scary, a Taylor who I can tell is close to breaking down is even scarier—mostly because I know he won't let me help him. In the past I might have offered anyway; right now I don't think I have it in me. So I turn away from him and get ready to take a shower, hoping to wash off the traveling funk and my frustration with Taylor.

Of course, he's the only thing I can think about in the shower, and I don't mean that in a sexy way. Sometimes I just get so angry with him, and right now is one of those times, even though I don't know how much of any of this is his fault. I just need someone to blame for how stupidly complicated my life is, and I'm sick of beating myself up for it. 

I shower quickly, because it isn't helping my mental state at all to stand under the spray and mope. I dress in the bathroom and quickly finish getting ready for bed, hoping that I can at least fall asleep quickly and that my sleep won't be plagued with stupid dreams about the guy in the next bed.

Of course, he isn't in the next bed. 

When I walk back into the room, I see that Taylor has made himself at home in the bed I had clearly claimed for myself. He watched me set my bag down on it—the bag that is now in the floor next to it—and plug my phone up on that side of the bedside table. Yet he's stripped down to his boxer briefs and sprawled across the bed as thought he owned it. 

Sometimes Taylor is really good at reminding me why I want to blame him for everything.

Rather than fight him on this, I simply turn the light off and curl up in the other bed. As before, Taylor has left the television on, the volume turned almost all the way down. It's still just enough noise to quiet my brain, though, and it isn't long before I feel myself drifting off. 

“Zac,” Taylor whispers.

So much for sleeping.

I groan, and Taylor seems to take this as an invitation. It's only a matter of seconds before I feel the bed shifting under his weight. I slide further away until I'm nearly falling off the edge of the bed, but Taylor follows me the entire way. 

“Are you mad at me?” He asks.

“What gives you that impression?” I ask. “You'd actually have to pay some sort of attention to me to come to that conclusion.”

“You are mad,” Taylor states plainly, sounding completely defeated as though he hasn't done anything to cause that anger.

I sigh. “Just let me go to sleep. I don't know why you're bothering.”

“Because this is the only time I can,” he says weakly. “I can't talk to you when we're at home. You know that.”

“Why, because you're scared of what Natalie will do?”

“It sounds stupid when you put it that way,” he replies.

I roll over to face him. “How is that not exactly what you're doing, Tay? You're scared of what she will do if you even treat me like I'm still your brother. You're terrified of your own wife.”

“And do you think I would be if she hadn't given me reason to be?”

“I don't know, Tay,” I reply. “I don't understand you at all. And I don't understand her at all either.”

“She's a crazy, manipulative bitch,” he says. “What's there to understand?”

“Why she didn't tell Kate about you and me? She knows about Carrick. I... I may have let Kate think that was the secret Nat has been gloating about knowing,” I admit. 

“Nat couldn't say anything about us,” Taylor says. “I mean, she could. But the pictures are gone. I made sure of that. She can talk all she wants but it's her word against ours.”

“Yet you're still scared of her.”

Taylor blinks. “Wouldn't you be? Even if it is just her word, it's enough to destroy us. And anyway, that's... that's not all she has on me.”

“It isn't?” I ask. Maybe the empty look on Taylor's face has been an act. He's still holding himself together somehow, but I can see the cracks. I see him starting to break and let me in more than he has in weeks.

He shakes his head sadly, letting his bangs fall over his eyes. “Have you seen her lately? Since she left the house?”

“Once,” I reply.

“Didn't you notice that big bruise on her arm?”

I think back, trying to recall how she looked that day at my former house. All I can recall is her evil face, but I suppose there may have been a bruise on her arm. Between her own clumsiness and being a mother of four, Nat's always sporting some bruise or scratch. I've never thought anything of them, but something in Taylor's voice makes me wonder.

Could he... no. Of course he couldn't. But haven't I wondered lately just how well I know Taylor? Maybe the person I want him to be couldn't hit his wife, but maybe he isn't that person at all.

“Tay?” I ask, my mouth refusing to form the rest of my question.

He nods, still not meeting my eyes. “When we had that huge fight. The one where I smashed my phone, you know? I threw it at her. She just... she made me so mad. I grabbed her arm and told her she was going to show me where she had hidden every copy of those pictures, and I guess I scared her. Anyway, that's why I think all the pics really are gone now.”

All I can do is stare at him. The way he tells me about assaulting his wife is so casual that I can't even believe it. After a moment he looks up at me, and the sadness in his eyes shocks me. Maybe he really can feel emotions after all. Maybe even remorse.

“I swear, Zac... I've never done anything like that before. I was just... I was scared too, you know? Scared of what she could do to us, and I just lost it. But it doesn't even matter that I've never hit her before, does it? Who will people believe?”

“Why do you assume they will believe her?” I ask.

“If they saw the bruise, they'd believe her,” he replies. “Between that bruise, all the other ones she can't really explain and this miscarriage... she's got enough to use against me and create some doubt, and she's made it perfectly clear that she will. And if she brings us and everything else I've ever done wrong into it? She could drag my name through the mud and she'll come out smelling like roses. There's nothing I can do.”

“There has to be something,” I reply weakly, even though I don't really believe it. What can he do?

Taylor shakes his head sadly. “There's nothing. She can't prove her accusations, not now, but I can't prove them false either. It will always be my word against hers, and if people have the slightest suspicion that I'm all the awful things she says I am... and I am some of them... that's enough. That alone will do enough damage.”

It seems so ridiculous that he should have his hands tied by Nat's potential accusations, but I know he does. She's not the innocent little woman that she appears to be. She's always scheming and plotting something, but to everyone else she still somehow appears innocent. They can't see who she really is, and for that reason, they will believe what she says. Everyone knows enough of Taylor's indiscretions. Of the two of them, his character is the most questionable... to everyone but me.

My opinions about Taylor seem to change so quickly that it almost gives me whiplash. I don't know how he can so easily win me over again. But I love him. No matter what he does, I'll always be too weak to resist him, and he probably knows that. Maybe he's just as manipulative as his wife. I try to dismiss that thought as soon as it occurs to me, but it won't go away. 

Could it be true? Is Taylor manipulating me?

I stare into his sad eyes and I just don't know. I see honesty in them, but can that be faked? Is everything he's doing just designed to get my sympathy? I don't know. But I do know that if it is, he won't tell me the truth, not even if I ask. All I can do is take what he says at face value and trust that he really is stuck between a rock and a hard place with Natalie.

Finally, I give him a nod. “I guess you do have to be careful, then. Toe the line.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It doesn't even matter what I want now.”

What he wants. He doesn't say that it's me, but that's implied. Isn't it? Maybe it isn't. Maybe it's all part of the manipulation. I don't want to know the truth. What is true is that we can't be together as long as Natalie is still controlling him, and for right now, I can see no way he can escape from her. I don't need any more truth than that.

“I'm sorry,” I say softly, wrapping my arms around him.

Taylor curls up against my chest and doesn't speak again. In a way, I'm glad. I don't know if I trust his words, so for right now, I find myself not wanting any more of them. For weeks I thought all I wanted was for him to speak to me, but now I just want to be with him in silence.


	65. Best Friends

The mini-tour goes by quickly and by the end of the week we're on our way back to Tulsa. The flight from California is one that I'm all too accustomed to, but I buy a book in the airport to read during the flight anyway. I'm still wary of talking to Taylor. After wanting his words for so long, now I've found that I don't quite trust them. I don't quite trust _him_.

But why don't I trust him? I can't really explain it. I know he's treated me horribly in the last few months, but I also know that a lot of that has been a reaction to Natalie's blackmail. How much of his actions are his own choice? I don't know. And because I don't know, I fear that I can't trust any of them.

We sit next to each other on the plane, but neither of us speaks aside from the few times when we absolutely have to say something. Even when someone addresses us, we say only a few words and none to each other. I feel like I'm being petty by ignoring him, and maybe I am. But he isn't speaking to me either. I suppose after his confessions a few days ago, he doesn't have anything left to say.

After a short layover in Houston and a flight that's nearly as short, we're back in Tulsa. Back home. It's strange how it feels less and less like home every time I return. The last two times I made this trip, I had no one to meet me at the gate. As if that wasn't enough of a knife in my chest, one of those times, I had to watch Natalie pick Taylor up and pretend they were a perfect little family. 

This time, I've made plans for Carrick to pick me up. As we round the corner, though, I don't see him standing there. I see Kate.

She's standing completely still with her arms folded over her chest. Even though it's warm in here, her posture says that she's cold. Or nervous. Or both. I don't know, but it makes me nervous. As I hurry over to her, I barely even register the fact that while Nikki is a few feet away trying to corral her children, there's no one there for Taylor.

“Kate?” I ask. “Umm, do you know where... where Carrick is?”

She nods. “I found his number and texted him that I would pick you and Taylor up. I hope that's okay. I didn't really snoop, but it was written down on one of your sketchbooks...”

None of that makes any sense to me, even though I know she thinks it must make perfect sense. Why is she picking me up? And Taylor? What's happening here? What have we missed?

“Taylor,” Kate says, glancing over my shoulder. “We couldn't call since you were on the plane... but Natalie is in the hospital. The kids are with your parents and Pam is already at the hospital, so I can take you there after I drop Zac off, if that's alright.”

“C-can you take me there first?” Taylor asks, his face pale.

I don't know what shocks me more—the fact that Natalie is in the hospital again for the second time this summer or the fact that Taylor still seems to care about her. Maybe it's just an act, but I'm not sure even Taylor is that good of an actor. After everything she's done, after everything he's said about her, I just don't understand how he can really feel anything for her at all, let alone anything pleasant, but his face shows genuine concern right now.

Kate nods. “Yeah, that's fine. I'll come back by the hospital after I drop Zac off. Let's get your things.”

I really admire her ability to stay calm. I guess it comes with being a mother, although I've never really thought about it before. She's blown up at me a few times when we've fought, but in most situations, Kate can keep her cool and find the obvious solution. I suppose maybe that's why she wasn't shocked to find out about me and Carrick.

In full on mom mode, it takes Kate no time at all to gather up our bags and get us in the car. No one speaks a word as we drive to St. John's. Taylor is in the backseat and I can't quite crane my head enough to see him in the rear view mirror without looking obvious. The drive doesn't last long, and all too soon we're pulling into the emergency lane at the hospital. Kate promises Taylor she will be back later to pick him up again, and he barely even acknowledges her as he stumbles out of the car.

I just don't understand him or anything about this situation at all.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Kate asks as she pulls back out onto the highway. “We can swing by Taco Bueno.”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. I didn't eat on the plane.”

Minutes later, we're sitting in the parking lot outside Taco Bueno with bags of food in our laps. Without even asking me, Kate ordered exactly what I wanted, and she also knew that I didn't want to go inside. Sometimes I'm reminded that we did make a good couple, once upon a time. But even though she does still prove how well she knows me, I can't really dredge up any feelings for her that are more than friendly. I don't know when that changed, but it has, and it isn't going to change back. Of that I'm certain.

“What's wrong with Natalie?” I finally ask between bites of my burrito. Maybe it isn't the best time to ask, but I need to know.

“I don't know,” Kate replies, shaking her head. “She had been feeling weak, which is no surprise, since she never eats anymore. Pam said she was throwing up this morning and then she started having dizzy spells... sweating... I don't know.”

“Throwing up?” I echo, suddenly feeling a little nauseous myself. “You don't think she was... I mean... already?”

Kate shakes her head. “No. No way. It's been weeks since she was with Tay, I'm sure of that. I suppose she technically _could_ be... but I think she would have told me. She might be keeping other things from me, but the whole time she stayed with me.... surely she would have told me.”

“Then what else could it be?”

“It could be anything,” Kate replies. “I mean, those symptoms... how many things could they fit? I'm not a doctor, and I didn't stick around to talk to one. I knew your flight was getting in soon so like I said, I texted Carrick and told him I could handle things. I hope that's okay.”

“It's okay,” I say. “I was just surprised to see you... instead of him...”

Kate nods and smirks a little. “Did you miss him?”

I eye her for a moment, trying to determine if she's serious. I think she is, and so I reply, “Yeah... yeah, I did. But I guess I should get used to that.”

“Why?” She asks, her brows furrowing and her lips turning down into a frown. 

“He's going back to California once they finish the album.”

“You had to know that would happen eventually,” Kate says, but her voice is sympathetic, not judgmental.

“I guess I did,” I reply. “But it's not like... I mean, we weren't... together. When he moved out here. It wasn't like that.”

Kate nods. “I believe you. Not that it really changes anything, as far as what it means for us, but I believe you.”

“I've never cheated before,” I say. I'm not sure why I say it, but it's just one of those things that cheaters always say, isn't it?

Kate shrugs, then leans back against her seat. “I've thought about that a lot. What it means for our marriage, I mean. It was... it was ending anyway, wasn't it? I think we both knew that, before any of this happened. So I know I should be angry, but I'm not. Because it doesn't change anything.”

I reach for her hand because it seems like the thing to do, even if it isn't a completely friendly move. Holding it in mine, I say, “If I had to have a marriage fall apart, I'm glad it was with you. That sounds weird, but I think you know what I mean.”

“You mean I'm not like Nat,” she replies, frowning a little.

I wince. “I didn't really mean that. I mean, I guess I did. But she's your friend. It's just that I see how things are going between her and Taylor, and I'm really glad that it isn't like that between us.”

Kate gives me hand a squeeze then pulls back. “Yeah, I know. It's been crazy to watch all of this happen between them. I hate to see Nat like this.”

I know it probably isn't the time to mention it at all, but my curiosity is getting the best of me. All I can think about is what Taylor said in Halifax. What he admitted to doing. He can't be responsible for whatever has put Natalie in the hospital this time, but I still have to know if Kate knows. I have to know what she thinks.

“Katie...” I say softly. “Do you think... I mean, did you see that bruise on Nat's arm? Did she tell you... about their fight?”

“Not in detail,” Kate replies. “I know it was bad. Do you think he hit her?”

Biting my lip, I nod softly. “He told me he did. He admitted it, finally, while we were in Canada.”

“That bastard,” Kate spits. “I know he's your brother, and I know you probably want to say even worse things about Nat for the way she's treated him. She did... she did hint that the fight was bad, but I don't know. I never really suspected that. Surely she would have said something.”

“Would she? I mean, don't think about Nat specifically. Don't think about what she would do. But do... do abused women usually tell people? Anyone?”

Kate's frown turns into something closer to a pout. “She could have told me. I'm her best friend.”

“I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything...” I sigh. “I don't know what to think, okay? And now she's in the hospital... with god knows what wrong with her...”

“Speaking of which,” Kate says, balling up the food wrappers in her lap. “I should probably get back to the hospital and see her. You'll forgive me if I put your brother into the hospital before I leave.”

I let out a weak chuckle. “Trust me, I've been tempted to do the same damn thing myself so many times.”

Kate gives me a smile and pats me on the leg, but it doesn't make me feel any better. She still has no clue just how much Taylor infuriates me. I can only hope that even now, Natalie doesn't tell her. Taylor has nothing on her. She has no reason to keep quiet, yet for now, she has. Yet I know that as calculating as she is, she's a victim of her own whims. If it would amuse her to tell people the truth, she would. It's yet another way I'm realizing that she and Taylor really are just alike.

“So,” Kate says, breaking the silence we've fallen into. “I should probably get you home and get back to the hospital. I still have all of Taylor's luggage. He's going to need that and a ride home. Plus... I need to make sure Nat is okay. See if I can find out what is wrong with her.”

I almost laugh at that; there are so, so many things wrong with Nat. I don't tell Kate that, though. She knows. But similar to my love for Taylor, though not nearly as twisted, she's loyal to her best friend even though she can see her for what she really is... or at least a part of what she really is. 

Maybe someday she'll see all of what Natalie is. For my sake, and Taylor's, I hope not.


	66. In Sync

After Kate drops me and my luggage off at my apartment, the first thing I do is text Carrick. I'm barely even inside the door before I pull my phone out and start typing. I wonder just how much Kate told him about her decision to change our plans. Of course, I doubt he really cares about Natalie, as callous as that sounds. But he doesn't, at least not if it doesn't affect him or me. Unfortunately, nearly everything she does seems to affect me these days.

Carrick's texts don't reveal anything, but he does promise to come over soon so that we can spend the night together like we had planned. It's asking too much to hope he will say he's missed me too, I guess. He doesn't really say anything of substance in his texts, in fact, and it makes me nervous. Is he pulling away from me? Is this the first step in breaking up with me before he leaves?

_Breaking up with me._

That implies that we're actually dating, doesn't it? It's the first time I've thought of it that way and not immediately felt sick. Not _sick_ sick, but it's just these... butterflies. Now it feels good, somehow. Maybe that conversation with Kate made me feel better about the fact that this really is happening, that I really do have feelings for Carrick. That I really do want to be with him.

Of course as soon as I realize that, it's time for him to leave. That's just my damn luck.

I get so lost in my thoughts that I barely realize any time has passed at all when suddenly my buzzer is going off. I know it's Carrick, so I buzz him up without a second thought. Maybe after what happened with Kate not too long ago, I should be more cautious, but I don't care. I don't have anything to hide right now.

Carrick must take the stairs two at a time with his long legs, because he's knocking on my door in no time at all. I fling the door open and give him my best smile, which doesn't feel like a smile at all. The look on his face says that he can tell my smile is fake, so he doesn't even bother to return it with a fake one of his own. Instead, he just throws an arm over my shoulder—more friendly than romantic, it seems—and nudges me back into the apartment.

“Are you alright?” He asks once we've made it to the kitchen and each retrieved a beer from the refrigerator.

I shrug. “It's not my wife in the hospital. I mean, I don't want anything awful to happen to her. Well, nothing _too_ awful. It's just the way Taylor is acting about it.”

“Still licking her boots so she won't spill the beans about you two?”

“Something like that,” I reply, nearly choking on my beer at the mental image his colorful metaphor paints.

“I bet he'll be glued to her bedside until they let her out,” Carrick continues.

“Probably,” I reply, then set my beer down on the counter a little harder than strictly necessary. “But I don't want to talk about it. I had a long flight after a long trip and then I came home to this. So all I really want to do is go to bed.”

Carrick nods knowingly. “I bet you do. Don't let me keep you up. I probably shouldn't have even come over.”

“No,” I reply, stepping closer to him. Suddenly I'm feeling bold, and although I don't know where the feeling came from, I decide to run with it. “I wanted you to. And I don't want to go to sleep. I want to go to bed. With you.”

Carrick stares at me for a moment, like he's having trouble digesting my words. Finally they sink in and he gives me a genuine smile. He downs the rest of his beer quickly and I do the same, even though I don't want to be drunk. One beer won't do it, though; I'll still be one hundred percent present for what we're about to do. 

With our beers emptied, our hands are free, and I grab one of Carrick's, practically dragging him toward my bedroom. He doesn't protest. Maybe he likes this new boldness of mine, too, though I still have no clue where it has come from or why it decided to appear now. I consider giving control back to Carrick once we reach the bedroom, but he collapses onto the bed so willingly that I decide I'd rather just stay in control. Just this one time.

Carrick leans back against my headboard and I crawl across the bed toward him. There's something that I just really enjoy about climbing up his long, lean body. He's so like Taylor, but not; in recent years, Taylor has filled out, but Carrick seems to always stay the same, like he's frozen in time. But I shouldn't be comparing them or thinking of Taylor right now. It isn't fair to Carrick. So little about this entire situation is, and I wish I could do more to make it up to him. For now, I'll have to settle for what I can do physically.

And what I can do is pull Carrick's shirt over his head and toss it across the room. He does the same to mine. It takes a little more effort to get our pants off, so I'm pretty thankful that Carrick didn't wear underwear today. As soon as his pants are down his hips, his erection pops out and my mouth begins to water.

Maybe I _am_ gay.

I shove that thought aside and quickly scramble down Carrick's body again, taking nearly his entire length into my mouth in one gulp. I want him, but I want him to enjoy this, too. Judging by the way he moans and runs his fingers through my hair, he is. 

As soon as he starts thrusting his hips up toward my face, I lose any self control I might have fooled myself into thinking I had. I don't want to wait for this. I want him now, even if it hurts. At least I know I have the weight advantage, so he can't protest too much from his current position—not that I really expect him to. I kick my pants the rest of the off and into the floor, then plant my legs firmly on either side of Carrick's. His eyes widen a little, but his lips are turned up into a smirk. I knew he wouldn't protest.

When I ease down onto him, it does hurt, but not enough to make me stop. I brace myself with my hands on Carrick's shoulders and he holds my hips, keeping me from moving once I'm in position. For a while, I just sit there, staring down at him. There's nowhere else I would rather be. 

But I can't just sit here forever. 

Slowly, I begin to move, a moan so low and primal falling from my mouth that at first I don't even realize I'm the one making the sound. Carrick's voice soon joins in with mine as I find the perfect rhythm, and his hand wraps around my dick to imitate that rhythm. We're perfectly in sync in not just this but in so many ways, in ways I don't think I've ever been in sync with anyone else. Not Kate, not Taylor... no one but Carrick.

Maybe it's just the ecstasy of the moment getting to me, but I don't know why I was worried that Carrick was pulling away from me. He's not. He may be leaving soon, and I can do nothing about that, but his feelings for me haven't changed. I know that now, as I stare into his eyes and watch his face contorting with the pleasure I know I'm causing him to feel. 

I'm feeling it, too, and I wrap my hand around his just to make sure he doesn't stop. My body is shaking so hard that I don't have if I have the strength to see this all the way through. Carrick grasps my hip with his free hand, helping to set my pace. He maneuvers me into just the right spot to make stars explode behind my eyes. When he growls out my name, everything fades to black for a second, only coming back into focus once I've shot my load all over Carrick's hand and stomach. All my strength is gone now and I can do nothing but collapse on top of him.

“If you weren't tired enough to sleep before that, you ought to be now,” Carrick breathes out, chuckling a little at his own joke.

“Mmm,” I reply, rolling over so that I'm laying beside him rather than on top of him. “I guess I could sleep. If you'll stay.”

“Of course I'll stay,” he replies.

I lean up and kiss his cheek. “Awesome. Just let me, umm, clean up my mess. Then we'll sleep.”

“I'll be here,” Carrick assures me, returning the kiss with one on my forehead.

After giving him a quick smile, I jump up out of the bed and scurry off to the bathroom. I don't want to be away from him for any longer than necessary. The fact that I can't even stand to be in a separate room makes me wonder how I'm going to survive when he goes back to California. I don't want to think about that, but it keeps popping into my mind. I _have_ to think about it. 

But maybe not right this second.

I use the bathroom quickly and clean myself up the best that I can. I still don't want to take any extra time away from Carrick, so as soon as I feel like I'm remotely clean, I grab another washcloth for him and hurry back into the bedroom. He's still laying across my bed, and I'm not sure he's moved an inch. He just looks so at home there, which makes it hurt even more to think about the fact that he's leaving.

“Here,” I say plainly, trying not to show any stupid emotions as I toss the washcloth onto the bed next to him. 

I turn my back to him both to give him some privacy and because I'm probably about to start crying or something. While he's cleaning off the mess I made, I stumble into a pair of boxers and try to get my emotions under control. I fail at the latter.

Carrick must sense the tension and awkwardness, because he tosses his dirty washcloth at the back of my head, letting out a surprisingly high pitched giggle as he does it. It's just what I need to distract me from my thoughts, at least for as long as it takes me to spin around and see him again, stretched out across my bed like he's perfectly at home. And he is, even though this isn't his home and won't be his temporary home for much longer.

“Come here,” he says softly. He's still smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. I guess he can see that mine doesn't either.

I cross the room quickly and crawl into bed with him, pulling the covers up over his naked body and my not-quite-so-naked one. It's too warm to be that covered up, but I like the way it feels like a nice little cocoon around us, like nothing in the world can touch us right now. Like nothing exists but the two of us.

But that isn't true, is it? I don't even realize I've sighed at that thought until Carrick runs his hand through my hair and asks, “Everything alright?”

I shake my head. 

“You want to tell me what isn't alright?”

I shake my head again, but Carrick's big sad eyes looking down at me wear me down easily. I just don't know how to say what's wrong without sounding pathetic. How can I tell him that I don't want him to leave? I suppose I could say exactly that or...

“Can I go to California with you?”


	67. Questions and Answers

Carrick stares at me for a moment, his face almost completely blank like he doesn't understand my question at all.

“You mean... you want to visit me in California?”

I shake my head. “No. I want to _go_. I don't want to come back here.”

“You can't just run away from your problems,” Carrick replies, running his fingers through my hair in a way that I suppose is meant to be soothing enough that I will ignore his words.

It isn't. “Yes, actually I can. As long as I'm here, nothing is going to change. And I don't know if anything ever will change about Taylor. All I can change is me.”

“And you can't change you in Tulsa?” He asks, but his tone says that he already knows what my answer will be.

“If I could, I think I would have by now,” I say. “I know it just seems like I want to run from my problems, but what else can I do? If twenty six years hasn't been enough to cure me of this, then nothing will.”

“So what, you run away, quit the band and then you can just pretend you're over him?”

I shake my head. “I'm not quitting the band. I just need a little distance.”

“I just don't see how this will accomplish anything,” Carrick replies, sighing.

I pull back from Carrick, feeling my lips turn down into a childish pout almost like they have a mind of their own. “So what you're saying is you don't want me to come out there?”

“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “I didn't say that. I just want you to be sure that it's the best thing for you to do. And right now, I'm not sure it is. But I know you're stubborn. You'll probably move out there whether I let you move in with me or not.”

“Probably,” I admit. I try to laugh at the end of that in hopes of lessening some of the tension of this conversation. Tension that I caused.

“Listen, Zac,” Carrick begins. “Your divorce isn't even final yet. And you're leaving how soon for Australia? Let's wait until after you get back to talk about this, okay?”

“Why, because you think I will have changed my mind by then?”

“Didn't I just say you were stubborn?” He asks a little teasingly. “I just want to give you a little more time to get used to the idea. Make sure that you're sure about it and not just jumping to the only solution you see at first. Just take some time to think, alright? I promise we'll talk about it seriously then.”

Carrick's face is serious enough that I know he isn't just trying to brush me off. I believe him. We'll talk about this again, and I hope that when we do, he will agree that I should move to California with him. Maybe it isn't the smartest thing to do, maybe it's even cowardly, but I don't see any other escape from this. And an escape is what I need.

“Get some sleep, alright?” He asks. “I know you guys are diving right back into rehearsals tomorrow for that tour. We can't have you falling asleep at the drums.”

I wonder if we will rehearse, though, when Taylor might still be at the hospital with Natalie. But I don't voice that. I don't want to talk about him or her or anything. Right now, all I want to do is curl up next to Carrick and sleep. He's the only thing that brings me any peace lately, and I want to cling to that. That's why I know I need to go with him. I can't let him leave and take my peace with him.

For now, though, I still have some amount of peace. It's enough for me to drift off to sleep in Carrick's arms and sleep through the night easily. I only begin to toss and turn when the smell of food hits my nose and pulls me from my wonderful, dreamless sleep. 

I've woken up to Carrick's cooking so many times this summer. As I lay in bed and will myself to get up, I decide that I could really, really get used to this. The idea of waking up to Carrick, either next to me or a few rooms away cooking breakfast for the two of us, forever isn't a bad thought at all. 

Before I married Kate, I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the idea of forever. It always left this weird lump in my stomach, but I just assumed that eventually I would get used to it. I would learn to like forever. I would learn to be okay with loving the same woman every day for the rest of my life, never knowing if there was someone or something else—besides Taylor—out there for me. In time, being with Kate every day _did_ become routine, but that sense of worry, almost dread, never fully faded. Being married to her was just routine. It wasn't exciting. It wasn't the kind of forever I wanted.

But when I think about forever with Carrick... there's no dread. Just happiness and anticipation of something I know will be better than what I've had before.

With a mind full of confusing but happy thoughts, I pull myself out of bed and walk to the kitchen. There's Carrick, just as I expected, pouring coffee. There are plates of French toast on the counter, and I'm surprised he's even found bread that isn't too moldy to toast, but apparently he has. I give him a quick peck on the cheek before grabbing my plate and scarfing down what I'm not surprised is the best French toast I've ever had.

We don't talk much as we eat breakfast, shower and get ready to head into the studio. He doesn't _have_ to go in today since the day is mostly about us rehearsing for the upcoming Australian tour. But I guess he knows that I need his moral support. No one has texted to say that rehearsal is canceled due to Natalie's hospitalization, and I have no clue what the day while bring, but I don't see how it can possibly be good, whatever it is.

As much as I want to delay going into the studio, I know it will only make me stress out more and consider all the worst possible outcomes for the day. So I force myself to stop dragging my feet and get to rehearsal on time. With Carrick there to push me along, we end up being a few minutes early. We're barely in the door before I see Taylor's car pulling into a spot right in front of the building. I'm not sure if facing him right away is better or worse than delaying the inevitable.

Taylor walks in the door and glances back and forth between me and Carrick for a moment. Finally, his eyes land on me and he very pointedly says, “Can we talk?”

I nod. I know that means he doesn't want to say whatever he has to say in front of Carrick. I don't like that, but I understand it, so I start walking down the hallway toward our conference room, which I know no one will be using right now. We're practically the only people here this early so any of the rooms in our office would have worked, but at least here, I can sit at one end of the table and force Taylor to sit at the other. I don't trust myself to be close to him, no matter what he has to say.

He looks like he hasn't slept or showered in days and I know I should ask how Natalie is, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Unless something else has happened that I'm unaware of, I assume whatever he wants to talk about has something to do with her.

“Umm,” he begins, clearing his throat. “Nat's getting out of the hospital later today, if she's still doing better, so I guess I'll need to leave rehearsal early.”

“Okay,” I reply. I'm sure the formalities of our rehearsal schedule aren't what he brought me in here to discuss, but if that's where he wants to start, I'll let him. 

“They, umm, wanted to keep observing her for a little bit longer... just to make sure everything was back to normal,” he continues.

“And is it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It never will be again, really.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, feeling my stomach drop at his defeated tone. He still hasn't told me what is wrong with Natalie. He's just dancing around it and avoiding saying it, and I don't know why.

“Do you know what diabetic ketoacidosis is?” Taylor asks, his head tilting to the side a little.

I shake my head. I can guess that it has something to do with diabetes, but other than that, I have no clue. What could it possibly have to do with Natalie?

“It's this thing that happens when people with diabetes have a shortage of insulin,” Taylor replies in this detached, matter-of-fact tone that makes me shiver. “Sometimes it's because they don't know they have diabetes, and sometimes it's because they just really failed at managing their diabetes.”

“Okay...” I reply, still completely confused. I know he thinks he's explained everything to me, but he hasn't.

He tilts his head to the other side. “You remember how Nat had gestational diabetes when she was pregnant with Viggo?”

I nod. Even though it went away after she gave birth, it made them both a little cautious about having another kid. Until this new pregnancy, they'd never gone so long between kids, and for a while I'd hoped they weren't going to have another. I knew it was a strange thing to hope for, but I also knew there were times when he'd been on the verge of walking out before she conveniently discovered they had another bun in the oven. I always thought it was a little _too_ convenient, but I never said anything. The fact that they lost this one after the trouble the last pregnancy caused didn't pass me by unnoticed either, but again, I didn't say anything. Maybe I should have. 

I meet Taylor's eyes again and ask, “But that went away, right? She was fine.”

“Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't,” Taylor mumbles. “We always knew it put her at a higher risk of developing diabetes later on, and guess what? She has. And the doctors all keep talking like she should have known and should have taken better care of herself. That she wasn't _managing her condition_ well. Funny how I didn't even know she had a condition.”

“Did she know?” I ask.

Taylor throws his hands up in defeat. “Apparently there is a limit to what information husbands can know about their wives' medical treatment. But I can't help thinking that yes, she did know. How long she's known, suspected, whatever... I don't know.”

I still feel like there's something important about all of this that I'm missing, but I can't figure out what. “Does it make a difference whether she knew or not? Or when she found out?”

“Actually, it does,” Taylor replies. “One thing I remember from before, from the last pregnancy, is that women who already have diabetes are inclined to have higher risk pregnancies. Meaning a higher risk of miscarriage.”

_Miscarriage._

The word rings in the air, and I'm brought back to that moment a few months ago when I had to take Taylor to the hospital. If Natalie knew then that she had diabetes and she got pregnant anyway... I don't know how to finish that sentence. Why would she purposefully put their baby at risk? But why does she do _anything_ she does? The most likely reason is for personal gain, but what could she gain by being so reckless not only with her own health but with that of a defenseless little baby? It makes no sense.

Yet, somehow, it does. Keeping something like this a secret so that Taylor wouldn't protest another baby seems perfectly in line with everything else Nat has done to keep her marriage together. The look on Taylor's face says that he's come to the same conclusion. I almost want to rush around to the other side of the table and sweep him up into my arms.

Almost.

“So what do you do now?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Taylor shrugs. “I don't know. I just don't fucking know. Pick her up from the hospital, I guess, but after that...”

He trails off, and I wish had some words to comfort him. I wish I had anything at all to comfort him, but I just don't. My capacity to care about the situation he's gotten himself into seems to have run out. Maybe that's harsh of me, but he _knows_ what she is like, and after his confession in Canada, I'm starting to think that he's exactly the same.

I'm starting to think they deserve each other.


	68. Two Bedrooms, One Bath

If the last few months haven't proven that I'm the king of bad decisions, then the decision I make the night before my next to last meeting with the divorce lawyers definitely proves it. 

A combination of caffeine and boredom left me unable to sleep, and so I ended up browsing the internet until the early hours of the morning. Out of curiosity, I start looking at apartments in or near Silver Lake, California—Carrick's neighborhood. There are a few nice ones, and as soon as it's not to early to risk waking up the landlord, I call one of the complexes and manage to finagle myself a verbal agreement on a condo I haven't even seen in person. It's big enough and nice enough for the kids to come visit, and if Carrick actually relents and lets me move in with him, I won't have lost _too_ much money on however many months' rent I have to pay before Carrick gives in. Besides, it isn't like I don't have money to spare; I could have gone looking at _houses_ , but I'm convinced that Carrick will give in... eventually.

What I needed wasn't a house or even an apartment. I just needed an address, which I have printed out along with a few color pictures of the two bedroom, one bath condo I found. They're now clutched tightly under my arm as I walk into the lawyer's office, ready to see what they—and Kate—have to say about my plan.

Only minutes later the whole thing is over. It feels like I've just walked in. Maybe I was expecting to meet more resistance to my plan, because it feels like I've never really been able to make my own decisions—especially none this big—before. But I am, and I did, and now the lawyers are packing up their briefcases while I'm still staring down at my creased and wrinkled printouts.

“So you're really doing this, hmm?” Kate says. 

I jump a little, not even realizing she is still in the room. Everyone else has left, their jobs easily completed. All the paperwork is done, the custody agreed upon, everything set in stone. Now we just... wait. Once I'm back from Australia, the divorce will be final and I will be packing for California.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I am. I'm really going to move out there.”

“Why aren't you moving in with Carrick? I mean, you're going there to be with him, I suppose.”

I look down, not wanting to look Kate in the eye when I admit, “He doesn't want me to move.”

“What?” Kate asks. “I'm sorry, I thought you two were...”

She trails off there, and I'm glad. I don't want to know what word she would have chosen to describe us. Still not looking up at her, I reply, “We were... are... I guess. It's just that he thinks I'm making a really rash decision here and I'll regret it or something.”

“It is rash,” Kate agrees, sliding my printouts toward her side of the table. “But it looks like you've planned this really well. You seem like you've got your stuff together. No offense, but I've never really seen you like this before. Like you finally have a grip on your own life and where you want it to go. Like you don't actually _need_ someone to guide it for you—which is good, because I'm finally realizing I can't be that person.”

There's something really bittersweet, but not angry, in Kate's voice. She clears her throat, like she's trying to get rid of that tone, and shuffles my papers. 

“It looks like you picked out a nice place,” Kate remarks. “Bigger than the apartment you're in now.”

“More expensive, too,” I reply, finally looking up. “But it's two floors. The kids would have to share, but I'd give them the bigger room.”

“There would be room for Carrick to move in there, too, you know...” Kate says. “But he owns his place, doesn't he? I mean, it's not too hard on him to rent this place here for a while, but...”

“He probably couldn't afford this place, and he wouldn't let me pay for everything, even if I can,” I finish for her, nodding.

“If I hadn't needed to be at home taking care of the kids, I wouldn't have let you either,” Kate says. “I'm not that old fashioned, despite what everyone seems to think. Maybe I'll actually put my degree to use now. Once both the kids are in school I could get a job.”

“You think you will?” I ask, and she nods like she's just made up her mind. “That's good. I think that will be good for you. The same way that moving will be good for me.”

Kate gives me a smile and slides the printouts back toward me. “Sounds like we've made up our minds, then. Now we just have to wait.”

“I guess so,” I reply. 

“Come on,” Kate says, standing up and clapping her hands like she's talking to the kids, not me. “Let's go get some lunch, then get you to the studio. You can't just sit there moping like this didn't go well.”

“I'm not moping,” I say, pulling myself up to my feet and forcing myself to smile.

I stuff the condo papers in my pocket and walk around the table to join Kate. She holds her arm out to me, a silly smile on her face, and I accept it. Arm in arm, like an actual couple rather than one that just finalized their divorce, we walk out of the lawyer's office.

“By the way,” she says, once we step outside. “I'm glad things are working out between you and Carrick. The moving thing is just going to be a little stumbling block. You two are too good together not to make it through this.”

“You think?” I ask, surprised that even though we are obviously happier apart, she can be so happy to see me in a new relationship.

“Yeah,” Kate replies, smirking a little. “You make such a cute couple that it would just be a shame if you didn't make it.”

Too shocked to actually say anything in response to that, I just watch as Kate walks away and unlocks her car. Before she gets in, she gives me another smile and asks if Mexicali is fine with me. Still in shock, I can only nod. 

I'm not sure what surprises me more—the fact that she is confident Carrick and I can make it or that she thinks we make a cute couple.

****

After lunch with Kate, where we seem to both make it a point not to mention her comments about my relationship with Carrick, I head into the studio to get a little rehearsal in. We had to schedule around my meeting with the lawyers, which I know bothered them all. Sometimes I feel like Isaac thinks I'm just trying to make things with the band harder. If he only knew the bombshell I'm about to drop on everyone...

Once I arrive at the studio, I throw my keys, phone and everything else cluttering up my pockets onto my desk and rush into our big rehearsal space-slash-art studio. Isaac and Taylor are already there, along with a few of our techs, and it's clear they've all been waiting on me. I mumble a quick apology as I take my spot at the drums, and neither of them even seem to acknowledge it. Without even a glance my way, Taylor calls out the first song. I count us off and soon enough I'm lost in the music and able to put aside my worries.

It isn't our best rehearsal ever, but it isn't so bad. There's just no life in us, no sense that we really want to be here, even if on a technical level, the music sounds fine. It just has no soul. When Isaac calls for a smoke break, no one complains. Even though I had been happy to escape into the music for a while, I also don't mind taking a break from the tension of being around my brothers.

At some point, Carrick has apparently arrived. I didn't see or hear him come in, so I must have been even more lost in the music than I thought. He's standing back against the wall by the door and he perks up a little as I stand up from my drum kit and walk his way, but there's something strange in the look he's giving me.

“Hey,” he says. “I hope you don't mind that I went through your desk, but I thought I left my lighter there...”

I shake my head to let him know that I don't mind, and I truly don't. I have nothing to hide from him, so I don't know why he would think going through my desk would be a problem. 

“Well, I found this,” he continues, holding up a few crumpled sheets of paper.

I don't have to guess what they are. I already know. Maybe I did have something to hide from him after all.

“What are you thinking, Zac?”

I shrug, deciding to walk out of the room rather than continue this conversation. I know it's childish and I don't care. Carrick is just going to argue that I'm making a bad decision, but the decision is made. Even though it was only a verbal agreement and not an officially signed lease, I'm not backing out. I won't. I can't.

“So you want to move there to be closer to me, but you're not even going to talk to me right now?” Carrick asks, obviously following right behind me as I attempt to make my retreat down the hallway. “That's really mature, Zac.”

Kate thought I'd made a mature decision, I nearly say. I guess I only have a limited capacity for those, since my reaction to Carrick right now is not at all mature. Just before reaching our office, where he discovered my plan, I spin around.

“I'm going to California,” I say, knowing I'm only seconds away from putting my foot in my mouth but unable to stop myself. “I'm getting my own place and I'm going. I don't see how that's really your business.”

“Wanting what's best for you is my business,” Carrick replies, his voice and expression softening some, and making me feel like absolute shit.

“Yeah, well, I am sometimes capable of deciding what that is on my own,” I mumble.

Carrick takes a few steps closer to me and puts his hand on my arm. “I know you are. I'm just not completely convinced this is one of those times, but if you are... if you are, then I guess I have to trust you. Even if I don't like the decision you made.”

“I thought you'd like having me closer,” I reply, faking a pout in hopes of making him laugh.

“I do want you closer,” he says softly. “So much closer. I'm just not sure that moving to California is going to be good for you in any way other than that.”

“Moving to California?”

I don't have to turn around to know whose voice that is, but my feet seem to have a mind of their own. I should have known better than to have this argument right next to our office, effectively in public. As I spin around, my fear is confirmed. Not only is Taylor standing there, but so is Isaac, and it's obvious they've heard enough to know my plan.

“I think, umm, maybe we should talk... before we finish rehearsing,” I manage to say, my voice as weak as I feel.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, staring right through me. “Sounds like we have a lot to talk about.”

Taylor doesn't say a word. He just falls into line behind Isaac as he leads the way to our conference room. I want to bring Carrick with me, but I know I can't. I have to do this alone. I have to explain, just days before we leave for our latest tour, why I want to move halfway across the country. 

I may not live to see that tour.


	69. Leaving

The conference room is completely silent when I walk in. Taylor and Isaac both stand on opposite sides of the table, like they're both ready to leave at any moment. I can't sit down, because then they'll be literally _and_ figuratively looking down me. I'm forced to stand, too, my arms crossed over my chest like that could protect me from whatever happens next.

“You're moving to California,” Isaac states.

I nod. There's no point denying it.

“And when did you plan on telling us about this? Does Kate know?”

“She knows,” I say, nodding again. I decide to skip the part about her supporting the move. “I was... I was going to tell you guys soon. I can't leave until the divorce is final, after we get back from the tour.”

“So, three, four weeks?” Isaac asks. “That was all the warning you were going to give us before you left the band.”

“That's not... I'm not...” I stutter out. 

But I _am_ physically leaving the band. The emotional distance that's been between us for months will now be actual distance. A part of me doesn't want that distance to grow further, but a bigger part of me doesn't believe any of this hurt between us will be healed if we stay practically in each others pockets. _I_ won't be healed if I stay here.

I look to Taylor for some reaction, anything at all, to see if he too believes that I'm trying to quit the band. His face is a complete blank, nothing at all like the rage written all over Isaac's. Taylor seems completely unaffected by my unintentional announcement. More and more, he's convincing me that he just doesn't care. I can't believe he's that good of an actor, no matter how much he has manipulated and maybe even lied to me. Taylor really just doesn't _care_.

“I'm _not_ leaving the band.” I have to force the words out, but at least it sounds like I mean them. My eyes are trained on Isaac as I speak; Taylor's reaction, or lack thereof, means less and less to me by the second. Even though Isaac is still staring daggers through me, I prefer that to Taylor's blankness. Somehow, it gives me the confidence to keep talking. “I'm just moving. That's all. You've talked about it. Tay's talking about it. I'm just the first one to do it. Now that Kate and I are divorced, why do I _have_ to stay here? We can still be a band. We always record in L.A. Anyway. Everything... everything will be fine.”

I don't know that I fully believe that, but I have to. I have to force myself to believe that this is all going to work out, because if I don't believe it, then I know it won't happen. 

“You have two children,” Ike reminds me. “You could stay here for them.”

“Or he could just run off with his boyfriend,” Taylor cuts in, the words so matter of fact that it's obvious he isn't making a joke, the way everyone has always joked about Carrick being my boyfriend.

He's outing me.

Isaac kneads his forehead like this conversation is giving him a headache. “I really can't deal with all of this right now, not when we're leaving for Australia in a few fucking days.”

“Sorry that _my life_ is too difficult for you to deal with,” I reply, feeling my own anger boiling up inside of me. “It's not like I have to live it or anything. You don't _have_ to deal with it. But I do. And I'm dealing with it by getting out of your hair, so you ought to be thanking me right now.”

“Who _are_ you?” Isaac asks, staring critically at me. “I don't even recognize this guy.”

“Why, because I'm 'leaving' or because I'm gay?” I ask, drawing little quotation marks in the air to indicate that I'm not _leaving_ leaving. I pause to give Isaac time to answer, but when he doesn't, I continue, “You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't know me either, but I'm sure as hell not going to figure out who I am if I stay in this city forever. I can't take it. I have to get out, and you can either support that or not. It won't change my mind.”

He still doesn't answer the most important question. I lied when I said it didn't matter. It does matter. It matters a lot, especially when I'm not even sure that _gay_ is the right word to describe me. It just came out, the word falling out of my mouth like I'd called myself that a million times before, and now I can't take it back.

But I also can't stick around for any more of this conversation. 

Isaac isn't going to see it my way, of that I'm sure. And Taylor? Taylor is just going to keep being a total blank slate, void of any emotions even as he spills one of my biggest secrets like it's nothing. I suppose it is nothing to him. I suppose _I'm_ nothing to him.

Then it shouldn't matter at all if I never come back.

Before he or Isaac can say anything else, I turn and hurry out of the room. I don't pass Carrick in the hallway, and I'm glad for that. He's not in our office either, when I duck into there to grab everything I dropped on my desk earlier. That's good. I don't know what to say to him right now. I'm not mad at him, though, even if he is resisting my plan to move. I'm just _mad_ in general. Mad that no one but my ex-wife seems to be able to let me live my own life and make my own choices. 

And I'm _tired_. 

Once I've made a spectacle of myself, storming out of the office like that, I head straight back to my apartment, intent on taking a nap. If I don't wake up again for the rest of the day, that would be fine by me. As soon as I'm in the apartment door, I start stripping out of my clothes. I'm so tired that I end up just flopping down on the couch in my boxers and t-shirt. If I could flip my brain off as easily as I can flip the television on, I would.

I don't just need a nap, I need a break, and right now, California feels like a long, perfect break from everything.

Within minutes of collapsing on the couch and flipping on the tv, I feel myself starting to drift off. My eyelids have just started to get heavy when I hear my phone ringing from wherever it fell in my haste to get naked. I recognize the ringtone as the one belonging to Kate, so I know I have to answer it. We may be friendly now, but she wouldn't call me unless something was wrong. 

Luckily, my pants landed next to the couch, so I only need to stretch a little to retrieve them and my phone. It's still ringing, miraculously, and I quickly answer Kate's call. “Hello?”

“Are you alright?” She asks, sounding a little breathless.

“Why... wouldn't I be?”

“Nat just called and told me you quit the band. I told her she must have misunderstood Taylor, but she insisted that you quit the band and stormed out of rehearsal or something.”

I roll my eyes so hard that Kate can probably hear it even on the other side of Tulsa. “No, I didn't quit the band. I just told them I was moving to California, and it would be a huge understatement to say it didn't go well.”

“So you didn't storm out?” She asks.

“No, that part is true,” I reply. With a sigh, I decide to just tell her the truth. “Tay decided to tell Ike that I was leaving to be with my boyfriend, and while he didn't say anything awful about it, it was pretty obvious that Ike wasn't happy about _that_ either. I just didn't feel like sticking around to debate whether or not I was leaving the band _and_ going to hell, so yeah, I stormed out.”

There's a brief pause on the line before Kate finally says, “You know, I'll probably be shunned at church if I admit this to anyone but you, but... I'm proud of you. I know this isn't easy, and I know we've all been taught that it's wrong or whatever, but it's _you_. Maybe I didn't ever know you as well as I thought I did, but I did know you. And you're not a bad person, so... I guess I just can't find it in me to believe that you being with Carrick—or any man—is bad, either.”

I can think of one man she wouldn't want me to be with, but thankfully, she's still ignorant of that. Somehow, in the midst of everything else that has happened and thanks to Taylor's possibly abusive actions, Natalie has kept mum about that dirty little secret of mine. The longer that she does, the more I'm inclined to believe that she never will tattle on us.

“I'm glad you feel that way,” I mumble. “I guess I didn't even give Ike a chance to let me know how he feels, but it just seemed like... it wasn't gonna be good.”

“Give him a chance,” Kate says. “Not right away. Let him calm down. But you're going to have to get through this tour with him, and honestly, I think he'll be more open minded than you're assuming. It isn't like any of us haven't known about Taylor for years, and no one really cared as long as he wasn't cheating on Nat.”

She has a point there, one that I haven't really thought about, because we never discussed Taylor's sexuality and infidelity. Like Kate said, we all knew, but it was just a dirty secret that we brushed under the rug and tried to ignore. It wasn't because he had been with Alex, or any other guy, though. It was because he was unfaithful and reckless. Maybe I haven't had enough faith in Isaac. I still don't want to come out to the rest of my family, but I'm realizing that at some point soon, I'll have to do some serious explaining about the move to California.

I don't want to think about that.

“Is that all Nat said?” I ask, although I don't really think I want to know what they talked about. I just need a distraction. “She just called to gossip about what I did at the studio?”

“Yeah, that was all,” Kate replies. “Well, and to talk about how she hates having to monitor her blood sugar and stuff. Honestly, I kind of tuned out some of that stuff.”

Somehow, I've almost forgotten about Natalie's health problems. With everything that happened at the studio today and with the way Carrick is seemingly pulling away from me, I've got a lot more to think about than Nat's dramatics and lies. But now that Kate has mentioned it, I have to ask. “What's she saying about it? And what do you think about it?”

“I really don't know.” Kate sighs. “It's just... how did I not know? I'm not a doctor, but I should have known _something_ was wrong. Or she should have known. I just don't really understand anything about what's going on with her. I thought I knew Nat, you know? We've been best friends forever. Now I'm just... I'm just not sure.”

“It's been a rough year for her,” I reply, as though that's some sort of explanation for why Kate is suddenly starting to see her best friend in the same light that I've always seen her.

“It's been a rough year for all of us,” Kate counters.

“Yeah,” I reply. “And I'm trying to fix it. I know if I leave, it will help. I just know it. So why can't everyone else see it?”

“In time, they will,” Kate replies, her voice soft but firm. “Give them a little time. You guys have gotten through so much worse than this and come out stronger as a band and as brothers. You'll get through this too.”

“I guess you're right,” I mumble.

Kate chuckles softly. “I know I'm right. Now, I need to go cook dinner for the kids. You wanna talk to them for a minute while I get things started?”

“Yeah,” I reply, without even a second's hesitation to decide whether or not I really do want to talk to them.

As soon as I hear Shep's voice on the phone, there's a twinge of guilt deep in my stomach. How am I going to explain to my babies that I'm leaving? I don't have an answer for myself yet. I don't have answers for a lot of my questions, and I don't have Kate's faith that everything will work out. But as I talk to the kids so easily, I remember how just months ago I felt like I couldn't relate to them at all. Things have changed. _I_ have changed. That realization gives me just a little bit of hope that maybe I am strong enough to make this all work out... somehow.


	70. Over

Although things don't go back to normal, because there's no way that they can and there's really no _normal_ for us anymore, things do seem to calm down a bit as we prepare for the Australian tour. Isaac is all business now, ignoring everything else about me other than what I contribute to the band. I'm strangely okay with that, because it's better than facing his judgment all the time. What I'm _not_ okay with is the fact that on our very first night in Australia, I'm assigned to share a hotel room with Taylor. I can't object without explaining why I have no desire to be near him, and so I'm just stuck.

I stupidly didn't remember to bring the adapter for my xBox, so I can't even throw myself into a video game to distract myself from everything else. Since my body clock is all fucked up, I just throw myself into the bed as soon as we get to the room. Taylor heads for the shower to wash off the, as he puts it, traveling funk. I really don't care. I don't have anyone to impress until our first television appearance tomorrow morning. I certainly don't need to impress Taylor.

Taylor...

I'm not sure when his shower ended, because I guess I've been lost in my own thoughts, but it must have just been moments ago, because he has suddenly appeared in front of me, absolutely naked. Oh sure, there's a hotel towel around his waist, but it's so small and thin that it might as well not be there at all, and seconds later, it isn't. Taylor drops it to the floor and takes his sweet time digging through his suitcase for a pair of boxer briefs, his ass bared to me while he searches.

He's torturing me, and I'm really not sure if he knows he's doing it. He probably does.

“What is your deal?” I don't even realize I'm saying the words out loud until Taylor spins around and gives me a quizzical look.

“What do you mean?” He asks, still completely naked. The boxers in his hand do nothing to distract me from the fact that his dick is just _there_ , taunting me.

I shook my head. “Nevermind. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Is this about the California thing?” He asks. My eyes are focused on the ceiling, but I still know that Taylor is walking toward me, and sure enough, he's crawling onto my bed seconds later. “Because I outed you or whatever? I didn't realize it was a secret, if you were willing to move out there to be with him.”

“Even if it wasn't a secret, it wasn't your non-secret to tell,” I reply, squeezing my eyes shut. “And that's not what I'm talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?” He asks, his voice strangely low and seductive and not at all appropriate for this conversation. 

With a groan, I force myself to look at Taylor, and immediately wish I hadn't. As decisively as I can manage, I say, “Don't do this, Taylor.”

“Do what?” He asks, practically batting his eyelashes at me.

“Act like you want me,” I say. “Like there's something really happening here, when we both know you're going to run from it, because you always do.”

“What should I do, then? Embrace it?” He asks, scooting closer to me even though his words are getting defensive. “You think we can just, what, be together? Even if Nat wasn't... being Nat... this can't work.”

“Maybe it can't. But you're the one who wouldn't let it. The one who wouldn't try.”

“One of us has to do the right thing,” he replies.

I grab his arm, both to hold him at a distance and to stop myself from hitting him. “Don't talk to me about doing the right thing when you're the one who keeps dragging me down. Neither of us has the moral high ground here.”

“All I'm hearing is what _not_ to do,” Taylor says, scowling. “What _do_ you want from me?”

My fingernails dig into his arm, and a part of me remembers the way that Taylor described what he did to Natalie. I'm not like that. I don't want to hurt him. Except... I do. I guess I was more right than I knew; no one has the moral high ground here. I suck in a sharp breath and say, “I want you to think about someone other than yourself for once. Stop trying to save your own ass and think about what you're doing to everyone else... to me.”

He gives me a blank look that implies that he truly has no clue. I can't even begin to explain to him all the ways he has hurt me. Not with words. And not with my fists, either. I'm afraid there's only one way to explain anything to Taylor, only one language that he speaks fluently. My nails still digging into his arms, I drag him closer to me and crush his lips against mine. It's not a sweet, loving kiss. I want it to hurt. I want it to linger and remind him that when we're together, it feels amazing, and he's giving that up. He's choosing to let it slip through his fingers because he's too weak.

Taylor is a little reluctant to kiss me back, I can tell, and I don't blame him. The fact that this is happening after we've argued is strange, but to me, it makes sense. I need to do this. I need him to feel what I've felt for so long. 

Finally, he relaxes a little and even tries to take the lead, but I don't let him. I push him back against the bed and climb on top of him, wedging one of my legs between his and rubbing myself against him. I'm still wearing my jeans and he's naked, so I imagine it feels different, and maybe not even all that pleasant, for him. He moans, though, and that's good enough for me. 

I inch my way down his body, leaving a trail of hot kisses until I reach my destination... the erection that I've caused. I waste no time taking him into my mouth, easily fitting every inch of him in. I've had a lot of practice since the night of his vow renewal, and I'm not drunk this time. Now, I know exactly what to do to make him moan and writhe beneath me, and sure enough, in seconds he's doing both. 

“Zac...” he whines, his legs twitching in a way that tells me he's dying to be in control of the situation. The hand he tangles in my hair, forcing me to speed up my pace, tells me the same thing, but I'm not giving in.

He wants this, and he's going to get it, but it will be at my pace. For once, I will be in control of Taylor, not the other way around.

While Taylor is still writhing, I pull back a little and suck on my index finger. I know I'm taking a risk here, because this is something I haven't done with Taylor, but I don't care. Taylor doesn't seem to either, by the way he's staring at me, his mouth practically watering. He continues staring, not even blinking, as I slide my finger into him. I know I ought to feel guilty for taking control like this, and not even asking Taylor if he wants this, but... I don't. 

“Shit, Zac,” he moans, and that's all the encouragement I need to know I'm not doing anything wrong here.

I add a second finger, working Taylor somewhat roughly and quickly. It's not that I want to get this over quickly, or even hurt him that badly, but I can't seem to hold myself back. It's a strange thrill to be on this side, in this role. I like it more than I thought I would. Maybe all I've needed these last few months was some _control_ , however minor and fleeting.

Pulling my fingers out of him, I say, “Roll over.”

He blinks, but then does as I say. A part of me wants him to stay on his back so I can see his face, but I can't risk this getting romantic, at least for one of us. I realize now that it never will be for Taylor. He has decided it can only ever just be sex, as though that's somehow better and less wrong than love, and to him, that's all it is. Fine. Right now, that's all it will be to me, too.

I don't waste any time enjoying the way Taylor looks bent over like that for me. Instead, I just rush to tear off my clothes. Maybe I should be more sentimental, because I don't think I'll ever be with him like this again, but I just can't. I can't. I just grit my teeth, grip his hips firmly and thrust into him. All at once and not gently, just like he did with me. A growl tears loose from my mouth at the feeling of Taylor, so hot and tight around me, and I hate that I'm letting him know he's getting to me. If he can even hear me over the sound of his own moans.

We don't communicate in anything other than grunts and moans as I build up my rhythm, rolling my hips so hard against Taylor that I wonder if I'll leave bruises. I decide that I don't really care if I do; it isn't like we need to worry about keeping this a secret from anyone who might see Taylor's bruises. We're in a deadlock with Natalie now, for all that it seems to matter to Taylor, so I really don't care if she knows that her husband has been in my bed again. A part of me _wants_ her to know.

I must be really twisted, because that thought turns me on even more. This isn't going to last much longer, and because I'm not cruel, I reach my hand around to grasp Taylor's dick. He's rock hard and it pulses in my hand as soon as I grasp it. It only takes me a moment to match my strokes to my thrusts, and we're once again moaning in sync. There's no point pretending that this doesn't feel good, after all. 

“I'm going to come,” I mumble, not even sure why I feel the need to warn him. I'm not going to stop. He's going to feel it.

Taylor whimpers. “Me too.”

“Good,” I reply, stroking him faster to get him there as quickly as I can. 

Seconds later, I feel Taylor shuddering, and he lets out a beautiful, low moan. He comes all over my hand, and without thinking about it, I shove my hand into his face. I push my fingers into his mouth, and he gets the hint. My eyes roll back in my head as I feel Taylor licking his own come off my hand. He laps it up like it's the best thing he's ever tasted, and it's just the push I needed to come. Stars explode behind my eyes as I struggle to stay upright and thrust into Taylor as I ride out my orgasm.

Finally, I come down from that high. My hand has fallen from Taylor's lips, all signs of his orgasm erased. I pull out of him and collapse onto the bed. Taylor collapses next to me, but my head is turned. I can still feel his weight on the bed and the heat of his body near me, though.

“Sleep in your own bed, please,” I say.

With little more than a pathetic whine, Taylor crawls out of the bed. From the corner of my eye, I see him walk into the bathroom. Once he's gone, I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. I don't know if I made Taylor feel the things I wanted him to feel, but I do know this is the last time. I can't keep giving in to him and to my feelings for him. I'm done.

A few minutes later, Taylor walks back into the room and finally puts on the pair of boxers he discarded in the floor next to my bed. As he climbs into his bed, he says, “You know this doesn't change anything, right?”

“No,” I say. “It doesn't.”

But it does. It's not the change I wanted, even just a few days ago, but I think it's the change I need. It's the understanding that this was never going to be more than a dirty little secret. I don't like knowing that, but I'm glad that I finally do, even if it does leave me feeling strangely hollow. At least I can find some peace in knowing that it's over.


	71. Family

After that night, I manage to convince everyone that I don’t want to room with Taylor again, even though I can’t explain _why_. It’s obvious that something has gone wrong between the two of us, but there’s no possible way I can explain that to anyone. Even if Isaac does already know, thanks to Taylor, that I’m with Carrick, he would never understand that I’ve been with Taylor, too.

I’m not sure how much everyone else on the tour knows about everything I’ve gone through over the last few months. Not even Isaac knew that much until that day in the studio. All I know for certain is that everybody on the tour seems to be ignoring me, at least to some degree. Taylor is the worst, with Isaac coming in second. Everyone else is just keeping a little distance because they can clearly sense something is wrong, even if they don’t know what. 

All of that amounts to me being pathetically on my own while we tour a wildlife preserve. We manage to fake it for the cameras while we film a little bit for the website and take a few photos that I’m sure Taylor will tweet. But once the cameras are out of our faces, everything goes back to silence. 

I couldn’t possibly feel more pathetic than I do right now, sitting on this bench watching the koalas.

“Hey,” Isaac says softly. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t even hear him walk up. He sits down next to me, though not too close. 

I glanced out him out of the corner of my eye. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?” He asks. He’s so casual, like nothing at all has been happening.

I just shrug, because there’s no way to reply to that question that Isaac won’t hate me for. I’m sure there’s no way he can really understand why things are so weird lately, even though he was present in the office that day. He still doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to know.

“Look, I don’t get… what’s going on,” he says, echoing my thoughts. “With you. With this whole… moving to California thing.”

“You can say it,” I reply, apparently already out of patience for this conversation. “His name. You can say Carrick. That I’m moving there to be with him.”

Isaac nods. “That’s what I meant. I don’t really know… how this happened, really.”

“Sometimes two people fall in love, Ike,” I say. I’m not sure when I stopped being scared of admitting that, but it seems it did happen at some point. 

“That’s _not_ what I meant,” Isaac says, pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he’s losing patience. It’s a reaction I seem to cause in him a lot. “I guess I just don’t understand how we all got so… distant. How I didn’t know this was happening and you were even _thinking_ about leaving. I don’t know what happened to all of us, Zac.”

There’s a part of me that wants to be angry that Isaac has somehow turned this around and made it all about the band, but I suppose in a way, it is. My decision to leave doesn’t just affect me, or Taylor, or Kate and the kids. It affects all of us. Everyone. It’s pretty selfish of me to just move across the country, I suppose. Maybe Taylor is rubbing off on me.

“I’m sorry,” I finally sigh. “I really didn’t mean to just spring it on you guys like that, but I know that if I don’t go now, I’ll never work up the nerve.”

“Why do you need to go at all?” Ike asks. “Just… just to be with him?”

I actually turn my head to face Isaac then, trying to judge just how much it pains him to say that. His face is fairly blank, though. Maybe I misjudged him. I heave a long sigh, then say, “Yeah, I just need… I need to be away from Tulsa. Things haven’t been so good for me there for a while, and I just don’t see them improving if I stay. And being with Carrick… it’s a good thing. It’s part of what I need. So I am going to be with him, but it’s for me, too. I don’t know how to really make you understand that.”

“Maybe I don’t need to understand it,” he says. “Maybe I just need to accept it.”

“And you do?” I cautiously ask.

Isaac nods. “Yeah. For some reason, I do. If some time and space between us all will get this band back to normal, then take all the time and space you need. Sometimes I think we forget that we’re not just three brothers anymore. We’ve got families, and hell, we’ve got _ourselves_ to take care of. So… I just hope you’re right.”

“I hope I am, too,” I admit.

Isaac reaches across the bench and gives me an awkward clap on the shoulder. It feels incredibly strange, perhaps even more wrong than my last night with Taylor. But at the same time, it’s kind of reassuring. Even though Ike has no clue what my life has been this summer, he still believes that somehow I can pull through it. I wish I had half the faith that he and Kate seem to have in me, especially when they’re both so in the dark. Yet… they still believe in me.

Maybe they’re right.

****

After a whirlwind two weeks in Australia, we’re on the plane back to the United States. It hardly even feels like we’ve been gone that long, in a way, yet at the same time all the silence and awkwardness made this little tour feel like it would last forever. Maybe we should have been trying to savor it more, since god only knows when we will tour again.

And I suppose that’s my fault, in a way.

But is it really? I can’t help glancing across the aisle at Taylor, totally engrossed in some book, or at least pretending to be. It’s probably just another tactic to ignore me. I know I should want that. I know it should be better this way, but… it isn’t. If we can’t be lovers, we should at least be able to be brothers, but it seems like it’s all or nothing with him. And now we’re nothing.

Even though I’m the one who has made the final choice that it’s over, I’m not angry with myself. I don’t blame myself. It’s Taylor who pushed me to finally end it for good. It’s Taylor who has spent weeks telling me that we shouldn’t be together, and I’ve finally realized that he’s right. 

So why don’t I feel any better right now? Why can’t I find any sort of consolation in knowing that I have made the right choice?

Why can’t I just be _happy_?

Even though I know I should be happy, because I have Carrick waiting for me back in Tulsa, I’m just not. That’s why I spend the flight sleeping and the layover in Los Angeles ignoring everyone and reading some stupid book I picked up from one of those little stands of cheap paperbacks. It’s based on a video game that I like, which would normally interest me, but today it somehow just bores me. None of this bodes well for the rest of our seemingly endless flight, even though I know the last two legs, from Los Angeles to Dallas to Tulsa, won’t take that long compared to the hours upon hours we’ve just spent over the Pacific.

I’m not sure why everything bothers me today when just a few days ago I felt so much hope. I suppose it’s because I’m going back to Tulsa, a place that has grown more and more suffocating and less and less like home over the last few months. Aside from Carrick, what do I have there? Okay, so my kids are there, and that’s a big thing. But both of them _and_ Carrick could be in California with me. There’s nothing tying me to that town and no reason to stay, yet for at least a few more weeks, I’m stuck there. It might be a simplistic explanation for my bad mood, and one that ignores my biggest problem, but it’s the explanation I’m going with.

Finally, hours later, even though it feels like _days_ later, the plane lands in Tulsa. As soon as I hear the announcement, it’s like I can’t breathe. I’m literally being suffocated by this city that I’ve called home for so long. 

I go through the motions of getting off the plane and walking back through the airport’s gates, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m so far gone that I barely even notice the crowd of people waiting for us on the other side of those gates. We always have a huge crowd; that’s no surprise, given the size of our family. Once again, Natalie has dragged all the kids out to greet Taylor. Nikki has too, but that doesn’t bother me.

And me… I have Carrick.

Of course, he was supposed to be here last time and those plans changed at the last minute. That’s why I didn’t even bother planning for him to pick me up this time. I had piled my suitcases and gear into a cab, not even thinking about how much it would suck to once again be the only one with no family to greet me at the airport. But Carrick thought of that. The wide yet strangely sheepish smile he gives me as I approach tells me he had definitely thought of that and decided to do something about it.

If I thought I couldn’t love him more, I was wrong.

“Hey,” he says when I walk up. His hands are stuffed into his pockets like he’s having to hold himself back from doing what he wants to do with them. 

This is a test, I think. This is my chance to show my brothers and everyone that I’m not ashamed. This is my chance to reclaim that coming out moment that Taylor stole from me. 

I yank Carrick toward me by his shirt and scoop him up into my arms. He chuckles and wraps his arms around me as well, and I’ve never, ever felt more at home than I do right then and there in his embrace. Before I can really think about what I’m doing, I’m on my tiptoes, planting a kiss on his cheek. When I do, I swear I can hear everything around us grinding to a halt. But I don’t let go. I bury my face in Carrick’s neck and just inhale the scent of him until I finally feel strong enough to face everyone again.

When I do finally back away from Carrick, I see a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly searching for anything else to stare at besides us. None of them speak, though. None of them seem totally disgusted, either, which I suppose is a good thing. I’m not sure what to say to any of them now; what they just witnessed said it all, I think.

“Come on,” Carrick says softly. “Let’s get your luggage and get you home.”

He offers me his hand, one eyebrow cocked like he’s not sure I’ll accept it, but I do. I think I can actually see the weight lifted off his shoulders once our hands are entwined. As for me, I feel home. I may not feel home anywhere else in Tulsa, but with Carrick, I’m right where I belong.

Whether it’s in Tulsa or Los Angeles, I know that feeling won’t change. Carrick is my home and my family now. He hasn’t replaced anyone else; he’s finally taken the spot he deserved all along.


	72. Goodbyes

Two weeks after we return from Australia, I help Austin pack to return to California. Carrick would be leaving with him, but he’s staying to help _me_ pack. He didn’t have to do that, but he did. And so two weeks after that, after the single most depressing trip to Disneyland ever, I find myself back at my old home with Carrick and a U-Haul. 

Kate and the kids are here too, and it’s really, really weird to see them all interacting with Carrick like nothing unusual is happening here. My kids, my ex-wife and my boyfriend… all together. I didn’t want to come here because I was worried it would be awkward as hell, but I knew I couldn’t avoid it, since so many of my belongings are still here. I took only what I absolutely needed when I moved into the apartment what feels like ages ago.

But it isn’t awkward. It actually feels right to see Carrick chasing Shep and Junia around while Kate tries to maintain some sense of control and help pack my boxes into the U-Haul at the same time. It’s times like these when I think I really don’t deserve either of them. As strange as it sounds, though, I don’t regret letting Kate go. We’re better now than we were together. Somehow, I think all of that badness had to happen to get us to this good place. 

Well, maybe not _all_ of it.

I don’t want to think about any of that right now, though, and luckily there’s plenty to distract me from unhappy thoughts. My whole life is being carried out of this house, one box at a time. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever moved; it’s not even my first cross-country move. But six moves–seven if you count moving _back_ into the apartment–in twenty six years isn’t a lot. And somehow, this move seems a lot more final than any of the others did. That said, it’s not a bad sort of finality. Every box I carry out and place into this U-Haul is just another weight off my shoulders. I feel freer and freer by the second.

“At least he’s keeping the kids occupied,” Kate says, nodding toward Carrick who is now letting Junia and Shep chase _him_ around the yard. “Where do you want these boxes? They’re labeled DVDs and games.”

“Better put the games in a safe spot,” I say, grinning. It is a joke and it isn’t, and Kate knows that. “Just wedge them in between these two big boxes of painting supplies.”

Kate does, with a little help from me. I’m not sure how she even managed to get these boxes out of the house; they’re easily some of the heaviest ones I’ve got, aside from all the drum equipment, some of which I need to pick up from our studio. I’m really putting that off until the last possible minute, though.

“Are you packing anything that isn’t some sort of toy?” Kate teases. “And Carrick doesn’t count.”

“Did you just imply that Carrick is my boytoy?” I gasp in mock surprise and offense.

Kate giggles. “I think I did. But you know I really do think you two are going to be happy out there. And once Shep’s preschool classes end for the year, I’ll bring the kids out to visit you.”

“I’ll be back for Thanksgiving… I hope,” I reply. We did talk about getting together in a month to start recording our next album, but Ike was the only one really pushing for it. I just don’t know if it’s going to happen… ever.

While Kate and I are talking, things go suspiciously quiet. Then I hear feet shuffling, and Carrick approaches with a huge box in his arms and both of my children following behind him, each holding a much, much smaller box. I’m not sure how he managed that, but I’m impressed. He sets his box down, then lifts Junia, box and all, into the U-Haul. She giggles and squeals as he pretends to store her amongst the boxes of my clothes.

“Does it seem to you like some of us are getting more accomplished than others?” Kate asks me, but she’s grinning enough to let me know it’s a joke.

Carrick turns around skeptically, but smiles when he sees there’s no real judgment on Kate’s face. It’s so fucking weird to see the two of them getting along, but I always wanted it to be this way. Okay, maybe not exactly this way; I couldn’t have guessed that I would divorce Kate and date Carrick. All I ever wanted was for them to get along. They were, at different times, my best friends… and my lovers. They’ve always been, aside from Taylor, the people who meant the most to me. When I imagined the three of us coexisting happily, it wasn’t like this, but that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we’ve all found some happiness and peace.

“You mean I’m not supposed to be packing this?” Carrick asks, picking Junia back up from her perch on top of the boxes and setting off another round of her giggles. “Sorry, baby girl. I guess you’ll have to stay in Tulsa. But remember, it was your mama’s call, not mine.”

Junia still giggles, but she clings to Kate as soon as Carrick hands her over. Kate offers her a soothing reminder that she’ll get to see Daddy again soon, and then ushers the rest of us back into the house to finish carrying out my life and loading it up.

“Alright,” I say, once we’ve stowed the last box and latched the back of the U-Haul. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m about to face the firing squad?”

Kate laughs softly, but there’s a sympathetic look on her face. She puts a hand on my arm and says, “It’ll be fine. It won’t take long to get whichever drums and things you’re taking with you, will it?”

“I guess not,” I reply. “It’s not like I’m leaving the company or the studio or whatever. But there are a few things at the office that I need, so…”

I trail off then, and Carrick leans against me softly. He knows even better than Kate does how much I dread this trip to our office. There’s no more delaying it, though. 

Kate yells for the kids to stop chasing each other and say goodbye to Daddy. The goodbyes are tearful, at least for me. It’s sad to say, but Shep and Junia are so used to Daddy leaving that they probably don’t really understand that it isn’t temporary this time. They’ll figure it out, though, and I hope it doesn’t hurt them. Of course it will hurt to have their family spread across the country, but I hope that in the same way we made it work when I was on tour, we can make this work. I guess time will tell.

Finally, I hand over the truck keys to Carrick and resolve to just go and get this over with. All of his belongings are piled into the bed of my truck, and I’m trusting him to drive it while I man the U-Haul. With one last goodbye to Kate and a promise to call her when we stop for the night in New Mexico, we start our little convoy through Tulsa to 3CG.

The office is eerily quiet, in the way it has been a lot lately. We don’t have a huge staff, so the place is rarely bustling, but there’s usually something going on. There’s usually some sense of life. Now there’s nothing, and the silence is just another reminder of how broken we are. Even though I fear running into anyone, but especially Taylor, that silence reminds me why I’m doing this. Why I _have_ to do this if there’s any hope of saving the band… and myself.

“Come on,” Carrick says softly, his hand on my lower back to nudge me further into the office. “I’ll go load up the art supplies–if you trust me to do it–and you can get whatever you need from your desk. That way we won’t be here long.”

I nod and offer him a grateful smile. “Yeah, that’s fine. I need to grab a few things from the recording booth, too, probably. We’ll do that last.”

With a plan in place, it doesn’t take long for us to get things packed up and hauled out to the alley where we’ve parked. A few interns and such are floating around the office, and I attempt to mumble goodbyes to them. There are only a few of our employees I’m all that attached to, and I don’t even know how to say goodbye to them. I’ve already done the tearful goodbyes with everyone else, including my parents, who seem to have decided to entirely ignore Carrick’s place in my life. I don’t blame them for that; I think acting cheerfully oblivious to our relationship is probably the best reaction they could have. The only people I _haven’t_ said goodbye to yet are my brothers, and as much of a wimp as it makes me, I haven’t made any attempt to contact either of them to do so.

Once my desk is so bare that it hardly looks like anyone has ever used it, I head into the actual studio portion of the building, and that’s where I find my two brothers standing over the mixing board, arguing. Their voices are low enough, and they go quiet so quickly after spotting me, that I have no clue what they’re arguing about, but I can’t help thinking it’s me. Then I feel silly and conceited for thinking that and try to dismiss the thought.

“Hey,” I squeak out. “I was just, umm, gonna get a few things and then we’re on our way…”

“Already?” Isaac asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “There’s just no point in delaying it. We can get a few hours in and hopefully get all the way to New Mexico tonight. I just… can’t stay here.”

The last few words are directed at Taylor, and I’m proud of myself for having the strength to look him in the eyes when I say them. I hope he realizes why I’m so anxious to leave, but I don’t really have faith in his ability to be that self aware. 

“Well, if that’s the plan, that’s the plan,” Ike replies with a shrug. It’s bad that I’m surprised that he seems so reluctant to let me go. It’s even worse that he’s not the brother I wish was that reluctant. “Anyway, don’t let us get in your way if you need to pack up some stuff from here. You better not be moving out of the studio entirely, though. I still think we need to get back to work on the album after Thanksgiving.”

“We will,” I reply softly, the words not at all convincing, but it’s enough to make Ike smile.

“Good,” he says, then takes a few steps closer to me. Awkwardly, he wraps his arms around me. With his voice low enough that Taylor probably can’t hear, he says, “You be good out there, alright? Take care of yourself. Let Carrick take care of you, too. You know what I mean.”

I chuckle nervously as I hug Isaac back. “Yeah, I do know what you mean. I’ll be back to visit soon, I swear.”

“You damn well be better,” he says with a laugh, then finally lets go of me.

We stand awkwardly in front of each other for a moment, then he makes an excuse to leave the room. I suppose he thinks if he leaves me alone with Taylor, we’ll work out all our differences. If only he knew how dangerous it was for the two of us to be alone. We’ll either fuck or kill each other. Or both. 

“You’re really doing this,” Taylor finally says.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I am.”

And that’s all we say. We just stare at each other. I keep waiting for him to have some huge change of heart, but of course that doesn’t happen. He doesn’t care whether I stay or go. He doesn’t care at all.

And that makes it so, so much easier to leave.

Carrick joins me a moment later, and together we ignore Taylor until he gets the hint and leaves the room. It takes us just a few minutes to pack the last few items, and then there’s nothing left for me in Tulsa but one last visit to Taco Bueno before we hit the road. 

It’s still fairly early in the day when we drive our little convoy out of town, and the sun is shining down on us. I know I’ll be under the same sun in California, but it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel like anything will be the same once I cross the Oklahoma state line in just a few hours. But maybe… maybe it’s a change for the good. I can only hope so, and deep inside, it feels like it will be. It just _has_ to be. I refuse to admit defeat and go back to the half a life I had before this summer. I’m ready for a new life. A better life.


	73. Skype Date

We take our time driving to California, and I take even longer to unpack. I’ve been here nearly a week and I’m still tripping over boxes and sleeping on an air mattress because I’m just that lazy. My dishes are mostly all still in boxes, too, with only a few glasses, plates and utensils for frozen food and take out actually unpacked. Tonight I’ve decided on take out again and I’m sitting on the couch playing a video game while I wait for it to show up. My internet just got turned on today, so Kate and I made plans to Skype later so I can talk to the kids. That and eating some seriously greasy pizza are my only plans for the night, and I am absolutely okay with that.

Aside from all the boxes still sitting around, my condo is pretty nice. It has a huge,open living room and kitchen combo, and a master suite on the first floor. The two bedrooms upstairs are nice, too, and I’m looking forward to Shep and Junia visiting and making them their own. When we Skype in a little while, I’m going to let them pick out their rooms and decide how to decorate them. Something about this condo just has me feeling so… hopeful. Even though I’m all alone, except for a certain someone over in Silver Lake who likes to laugh about the fact that I ended up in West Hollywood, I don’t _feel_ alone. 

Not long after I sit down on the couch, my video game is interrupted by the doorbell ringing. I rush to answer, suddenly realizing how hungry I am. When I open the door, though, I’m not greeted by a pizza delivery guy. Instead, I see Carrick… holding two boxes of pizza.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says. “I met the guy in the driveway and paid him for you.”

I give Carrick a quick glance up and down, then smirk. “You know, I think I had a fantasy once that started like this…”

“Yeah, I bet you did,” he replies with a smirk of his own. “Come on, let’s eat. Assuming you got something that isn’t covered in meat.”

My perverted self can barely stop laughing long enough to tell him that one box contains breadsticks. I’m still laughing as we make our way to the couch and settle in to eat dinner. I hadn’t really planned to invite Carrick over, but I don’t mind that he just showed up on his own. I wouldn’t mind if he never left at all.

While we’re eating, I hear the Skype ringtone playing on my laptop from where it sits on the other end of the coffee table (one piece of furniture I actually own). I instantly feel bad for forgetting that Kate was going to call as soon as Carrick showed up, but I force myself to ignore that feeling. It isn’t like I was supposed to do something for the kids, didn’t do it and missed my chance; as soon as I hear that ringtone, I reach for my laptop and accept the “call.” When I do, Kate pops up on the screen, the sounds of Shep and Junia playing somewhere off in the background hitting my ears.

“Hey, Katie,” I say, sheepishly swallowing my last bite of pizza.

“Hey, Zac,” she says, then glances to the right. “Oh, Carrick, hey.”

Carrick gives her a little wave, then asks, “Skype date?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date,” Kate replies, blushing a little. “But the kids miss their Daddy, so we planned to chat. And now they’re busy playing. Shep, Junia–come say hi to Daddy!”

They ignore her, of course, because they’ve both been cursed with my attention span. I chuckle. “Let them play; it’s fine. They’ll wander over eventually.”

“Alright,” Kate says somewhat skeptically, tossing another little glance at something I can’t see, which I assume is the kids. She glances back at Carrick somewhat more seriously. “Well, are you taking good care of him?”

“I’m trying to,” he replies, chuckling. “He can take care of himself pretty well, though.”

To my surprise, Kate smiles and says, “I know he can. But I still worry. I’m glad you’re there for him.”

“I’m glad I am, too,” Carrick says.

Thankfully, things don’t have a chance to get any mushier than that. Junia finally notices voices other than Kate’s and waddles over to the desk to see what’s going on. Not one to be left out, Shep soon bounds over as well, and then they’re both babbling at us, their voices overlapping so much that all we can do is nod and make vague noises that are barely even real responses. But that’s okay. I’m just glad to see my babies again, and even though I hate myself for leaving them, I’m glad that they seem happy. I’m glad they we’re _all_ so happy and comfortable now. 

Somehow, things seem to be working out. I know it’s too soon to judge, but I have a good feeling about all of these changes in my life. I just do.

After the kids babble at me for a while, I pick up the laptop and give them the grand tour of my new place. It’s a mess already, which Carrick and Kate both feel the need to comment on, but the kids love it. I’m glad that I can once again share in their excitement. I miss that childish innocence. I know mine is long gone, banished early on by our fame, but there are times when I get fleeting glimpses of it. I’ve felt a lot more pure glee since moving to California than I can remember feeling for years. 

Once the kids have finished fighting over who gets which of the bedrooms that are basically identical anyway, Kate informs them that it’s time for bed. They fight that, of course, but eventually, after several rounds of goodbyes, they grudgingly agree to take their baths.

By the end of the Skype call, Carrick and I have found our way into my bedroom. I close my laptop and set it on the floor, then collapse onto my air mattress, motioning for Carrick to join me. He chuckles, but crawls onto the makeshift bed anyway. He looks absolutely ridiculous, all long legs and arms slinking across the mattress.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your decorating choices,” Carrick remarks as he curls up beside me.

“It’s just temporary,” I reply, resting my head on his chest.

“The bed, right?” He says, sounding more nervous and self-conscious than I knew was even possible for Carrick. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you know, hard to believe you’re actually here.”

“And that’s how I felt when you were in Tulsa,” I reply softly. “But this _is_ permanent. I’m staying. As long as you’ll have me, anyway.”

He grins. “So… forever?”

“Sounds good to me.”

I crane my neck so that I can reach Carrick’s lips and plant a soft kiss on them. The kiss doesn’t stay soft and sweet for long, and I’m not sure which of us is responsible for deepening it, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. This thing between us isn’t purely based on physical attraction, but it’s been too damn long since we’ve had the time and privacy to be together like this, and I want to take advantage of that. It doesn’t matter that we’ve just promised each other forever. There’s still no need to wait.

Carrick seems to agree with these thoughts I haven’t voiced, because it isn’t long before he’s climbing on top of me and shoving my shirt over my head. Once it’s been flung into the floor, I start unbuttoning his and send it flying into the floor to join mine. Our pants are next, and soon Carrick is crawling down my body, coming to rest between my legs. He plants a few kisses along my inner thighs before _finally_ letting his mouth land on my dick. 

“Carrick…” It’s halfway between a moan and a whine, but it has the intended effect. His eyes trained on mine, Carrick takes me fully into his mouth, the wet heat of it feeling even better than I remembered.

It isn’t long before I feel an orgasm building, and I nudge Carrick’s shoulder to tell him to back off. I don’t want it to end like this; it’s been too long and I need more of him than just a blow job. He gets the hint and backs off, but to my surprise, he crawls into my lap instead. 

I give him a quizzical look and ask, “Are we… I mean, are you gonna…?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “It’s always the other way around, so I just figured… I mean… if that’s alright.”

“It is,” I reply, nodding perhaps a little too eagerly, judging by the way Carrick laughs.

“Good. I just… need you this time.”

I could get off just on those words. I really could. And when Carrick lowers himself down onto me, I feel like I might die. It’s so different from when Taylor and I did this. For one, Carrick is basically in control, since he’s sitting on top of me, effectively pinning me to the mattress, and setting his own pace. But it’s not just that. This is, as much as the phrase makes me roll my eyes, making love. 

I don’t like all this romance and mushy stuff, though. I grasp Carrick’s hips and pull him down harder, holding him against me and thrusting up into him. He moans loudly and reaches down to grasp his own dick. Part of me wants to do that for him, but I’m enjoying being the one to set our pace now. Between the way I’m thrusting roughly into him and the fact that he already has me so worked up, I know I’m not going to last much longer. Watching Carrick jerk himself off isn’t helping, either.

Carrick tosses his head back and moans in ecstasy, and that’s it. I’m done. It’s over. I press my fingertips into his hips and hold him in place as I come, needing to be as connected as possible to him. My orgasm rips through my body, and I swear Carrick moans even louder as it fills him. I wrap my hand around his to give him the last few strokes to push him over the edge as well. 

“Fuck, Zac…” he moans out as he coats our hands in his come. 

I don’t mind, though. I just lift my hand to my mouth and lick it off, reveling in the taste, a taste that I didn’t even know until a few months ago, and now it’s one of my favorite things in the world. 

Carrick chuckles a little as he watches me lapping it up eagerly, then lifts his leg to climb off of me. Something goes a little wrong somewhere along the way, and he tumbles off the side of the air mattress. Since our legs are still tangled together, I go tumbling with him. The mattress held up surprisingly well as we fucked, but none of our desperate scrambling stops us from ending up in a naked, sweaty heap in the floor, both of us laughing uncontrollably.

“Not… one of my… finer moments,” Carrick gasps out between laughs.

“You’re lucky I love you,” I reply, still giggling. “I think you almost broke my bed.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says. “But not right now. Right now, I think I could go to sleep.”

“In the floor?” I ask, staring incredulously down at him.

He shrugs. “Why not? Can’t be any less comfortable than your inflatable bed.”

“You’re probably right,” I reply, then lean down to kiss his forehead. “Anyway, you’re here. So that’s good enough for me. Who needs beds or mattresses that don’t have to be pumped up when I’ve got you?”

“Such a way with words,” Carrick teases. “You should be a poet or something.”

I laugh, then rest my head against Carrick’s shoulder, curling my body around his. I wasn’t kidding. For once in my life, I don’t need anything else. Everything I want… everything I need… is right here.


	74. On Stage

It’s nearly Thanksgiving, not that you can really tell out here in California. But the year is flying by. My birthday passed nearly a month ago with little more celebration than a half-hearted cake smash and now suddenly I’m realizing that it’s almost time for the real holidays (I’ve been informed that my birthday does not in fact count as a holiday). Even though I want to forget that, I can’t, because my mom keeps calling to invite me home for the annual Hanson family Thanksgiving feast. I don’t want to go, and I feel guilty about that. I feel even guiltier for ignoring some of her phone calls, because I have no good explanation for why I don’t want to return to Tulsa.

At some point, either her guilt trips or Kate’s are going to wear me down, but they haven’t yet.

But right now, I’m not thinking about birthdays or holidays or anything else. Right now, I’m thinking about how this is my first real public appearance with Carrick. It might just be a relatively small concert for him, Austin and their new drummer Trevor, but it’s the first time since my move to LA that he and I have gone somewhere more meaningful than out to eat. 

I’m a little nervous.

It isn’t like attending Carrick’s concert officially means coming out of the closet, but it is a big step. I posted a very vague blog full of photos of California on the band’s website a few days ago, and I don’t know if every fan will read between the lines and realize I live here now. The chances of a few of our fans showing up at this show are pretty high, and if they do, they’ll have questions for me… questions that I don’t think I can answer. Not yet. But maybe soon.

I spend most of the concert at the bar with Carrick’s brother Rowan, just admiring the show. It isn’t often that I get to just attend a concert. When I do, I usually find myself critiquing every bit of it, but now, there’s nothing to critique. Carrick makes performing look effortless. He was born to be on stage, and I’m so lucky to get to see him in action. When we toured together, I rarely got to see his set from the front. I was stuck watching through curtains; even then I could tell how great he was, but it was nothing compared to this.

Of course, I know every word to every song the band plays, except for a few of the newer ones. I helped record those, filling in what drum parts they hadn’t already recorded before coming to Tulsa, but I haven’t had time to memorize the lyrics yet. I try not to sing along too much, because I really don’t need to look like _that_ much of a fanboy. When he pulls out his acoustic guitar, though, I know I’m done for.

“So, uhh, I’m gonna play something a little mellower here. And this one is for someone who loves the oldies just as much as I do. Maybe you guys like them, too.”

I don’t have to guess that I’m the person he was referring to. If it wasn’t already obvious, the quick glance he gives me before he begins to play is proof enough. A part of me wants to be angry with him for being so obvious, but so far, I haven’t been accosted by any fans. Maybe I’m paranoid for thinking there are any here. How would they know to look for me here, anyway? Maybe Carrick and I are safe. I hope so, and I hope he understands why I worry. It isn’t shame. It’s just that none of this is easy even for people who didn’t grow up under the limelight.

_There were bells on a hill  
But I never heard them ringing  
No, I never heard them at all  
Till there was you_

I haven’t heard him sing this song before. Carrick doesn’t do a lot of covers, but when he does, he makes you forget the song ever belonged to anyone else. I don’t even care that he didn’t write this for me. I have a sneaking suspicion he has written other songs for me. There’s one that we wrote together a few years ago, with this battle metaphor. But it’s really about friendship. At least, that was how I saw it at the time. Now, I realize it’s really about love. Love between friends, between family… between lovers.

How did I never see this before? How has it taken five years for me to realize I was in love with him? How could I be so stupid?

But I’m not stupid now. I have him. And I’m never letting him go. Not when I realize I’m capable of making someone feel the way he obviously feels. I don’t deserve him, and I haven’t been nearly as good to him as he deserves, but I want to try. I want to deserve the sort of words he’s singing right now.

_There was love all around  
But I never heard it singing  
No, I never heard it at all  
Till there was you  
Till there was you_

The song ends and the audience claps, but it’s obvious Carrick isn’t finished embarrassing me. His eyes still trained on me, like there’s no one else in the club at all, he speaks again as he switches back to his electric guitar.

“So, I don’t know if you guys have noticed, but there’s this guy here who I wrote some of these songs with. He’s an amazing songwriter, and an amazing person, and I really think he needs to be on this stage with me right now. There’s a song we wrote together a few years ago that we’ve played once before on this stage, and I think it bears repeating. So what do you guys think? You want Zac Hanson to come up here and play a little song for you guys?”

To my shock, the crowd claps and cheers. You never know how a random audience is going to react to the knowledge that there’s a Hanson about to assault their eardrums. But I guess Carrick’s smile and his words are just so infectious, so encouraging, that they all want to see what I can do to cause him such happiness. If they only knew.

I know, without a doubt, which song Carrick is referring to. I’m not sure Austin or Trevor know the song, but it’s very simple, musically. They can figure it out. That’s assuming Carrick and I even remember how it goes, since, as he said, we’ve only played it live once before.

Like a man possessed, I weave my way through the crowd to the stage. It’s like there’s an invisible string pulling me there, toward Carrick, even though I don’t really want to interrupt his concert. I feel like I’m stealing the show, and then I hate myself for having so much ego. It’s still his concert. I’m just a guest, and he wants me there. So I have to go.

Carrick gives me a small smile as I sit down at the piano. It isn’t much, but it’s the encouragement I need. Between his smile and the audience’s cheers, I feel at home again. And I’m no longer worried about what playing this song will mean. I’m just ready to play it.

_Have you ever seen the mountains  
Out the window of a train  
Don't reject my invitation  
You'll be happy that you came_

_I don't wanna see tomorrow  
If I cannot see today_

_We will find our way  
And we won't slow down  
We'll pick up the pace  
This is our time now  
And the world won't wait  
If you miss that train  
It will get there somehow  
This is our time now_

_Have you ever danced with someone  
On the rooftop in the rain  
Ever stopped on an elevator  
Just to have a quiet place_

_Where I'll be tomorrow  
Is irrelevant today_

_We will find our way  
And we won't slow down  
We'll pick up the pace  
This is our time now  
And the world won't wait  
You can miss this train  
It will get there somehow  
This is our time now_

_If you play it safe  
Why play at all  
Sometimes you gotta trip and fall  
Before you stand up tall  
When you're at the gate  
And the plane's delayed  
There is more to living  
Than the destination_

_We will find our way  
And we won't slow down  
We'll pick up the pace  
This is our time now  
When the world won't wait  
You can miss this train  
And we'll get there somehow  
This is our time now_

_We will find our way  
And we won't slow down  
We'll pick up the pace  
This is our time now_

_This is our time now  
This is our time now  
This is our time  
This is our time  
This is our time now_

The song fades out, but the meaning remains. This _is_ our time. When we wrote this song, I had no clue what it truly meant. I thought that I did, but it’s crystal clear now that I had no clue. The desire to live a full life was in me, because I knew then that I wasn’t. I knew what I had, my supposedly perfect little family, didn’t bring me the happiness I craved. I didn’t know then that the key to that bliss was sitting next to me, strumming my guitar and fixing my lyrics. 

I know now. I hope the hug I give him before stepping off the stage expresses even half of what I feel right now.

The show ends. I don’t remember the last of Carrick’s set, because I’ve been at the bar, taking my sweet time with a rum and coke. If I drank it any faster, I would be completely trashed, and I don’t think I want to be completely trashed. Just as I sit the glass down, a piece of rum soaked ice rattling around my mouth, I see Carrick walk up, free of his guitar. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t get the chance to say anything.

“Hey, umm, I really liked that song,” a girl says, suddenly appearing in front of Carrick and me. “I mean, the one you played with him, Zac. I’m a big fan of yours. I had no clue you guys were out here. Are you recording?’

So many words. So many thoughts. It takes me a moment to process it all and realize she has asked a question. When I finally do understand, I shake my head. “No, we’re umm… I mean, I just moved out here. We’re taking a little break… from recording. We’ll get back to it soon.”

The last sentence is tacked on just as a meaningless reassurance. Even though I’m supposed to go home for Thanksgiving, a fact I keep conveniently forgetting, we have made no definite plans to record anything. Not a single song. Definitely not a full album. But my platitudes are enough to make this fan smile, even though her eyes show surprise and confusion at my sudden move to LA.

After signing a bar napkin for her and thanking her for being a fan, I’m finally free. She wanders off, back to a group of giggling girls who I suppose were too shy to approach me. In any group of fans, there’s always the bold one—sometimes too bold. This moment, the first time I had to admit to the move, could have been a lot worse. It feels strangely anticlimactic. I wanted a big scene, I suppose. No, I expected a big scene, because that’s what my life has been for months. Just one shitfest after another.

I turn back to Carrick, my eyes landing on him for just a moment before I pick up the glass and crunch on another piece of semi-alcoholic ice. Carrick’s eyes are trained on me, waiting for me to say something. I know that look. He knows I have something to answer for, even if I don’t yet know what it is.

“Thanks for playing our song with me,” he finally says, more to break the silence than because those words really matter, I suppose.

I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is,” he says. “You haven’t been onstage without your brothers, what, ever? And you haven’t been on stage at all for almost a month. In your world, that might as well be years.”

A part of me is ready to insist that Carrick is making this into a bigger deal than it really is. The other part of me feels like I’ve just been stabbed in the chest. Not in the heart, but close. Somewhere lower, deeper, even more primal. The soul, maybe? I don’t know. All I know is that I miss music. I don’t miss Tulsa or my brothers, but I miss music. And unless I want to join Everybody Else—who work for my brothers anyway--or become a solo artist, I have to face them. 

“I have to go back.”

At first I don’t even realize I’ve said the words out loud, but Carrick’s wide eyes alert me to that fact. He composes himself quickly, giving me a curt nod.

“Not forever,” I add. “I just… we need to work on this album. We need to record. I need to _play_. Just for the holiday, I promise. Then we’ll come back here.”

Carrick nods again. “If it’s what you need, it’s what you need. I don’t always trust you to make the right decisions about those things, but when you do, I’ll let you know.”

“And when I don’t, you’ll also let me know.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” he replies, cracking a genuine smile.

I crunch another piece of ice, smiling at Carrick around it. I’m not happy to go back. In fact, I dread it. But I have to do it, at least this once. Of that I’m certain.


	75. Thanksgiving

Somehow, I manage to convince Carrick to go back to Tulsa with me. I know this is a huge deal, because this means officially coming out to my parents. Kate is the only person I’ve ever brought home for the holidays. Bringing Carrick with me this time is making a bold statement, and I’m just so tired of hiding that I don’t care how bold it is. I don’t necessarily want everyone to know, but it’s too much work to keep them in the dark or keep pretending like they don’t already know.

And so, here we are. In a taxi, riding to my parents’ new place that I will probably always call their “new place” even after they’ve lived in it for far longer than one year. In just a few short minutes, Carrick will be experiencing his first full Hanson family holiday, and the Hanson family will be experiencing their first holiday with a gay son.

It’s clearly going to be a big year for the family scrapbook.

The taxi rolls to a stop in the cul de sac, and I pay our fare while Carrick unloads our luggage. It’s the easiest way to divide up the labor so that Carrick is too distracted to feel _too_ bad about me paying for everything. He’s not poor, but unlike me, he doesn’t have enough in the bank and invested to know that if he never worked again, he would be fine. I feel conceited even thinking that, but it’s true. Still, I don’t _feel_ any richer than him. I have things I splurge and spend a lot of money on, but so do most people, regardless of whether they really have the money to spare. The only difference is that I know I have more of a safety net to fall back on. Sometimes I think it makes Carrick feel like the relationship is a bit unbalanced, especially since I’m younger than him, but so far it hasn’t been a big deal… except for those times when I not-so-jokingly suggest he move in with me.

But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters right now is walking up my parents’ crowded driveway and through their door without panicking. This is big. This is really big, and the closer we get to the door, the less prepared for it I feel. But then Carrick rings the doorbell and it doesn’t matter if I’m prepared or not.

There’s a lot of shuffling and muffled shouting on the other side of the door, and then it’s flung open by my mom. She only pauses for a second, if that, before scooping me up into a hug, and gushing about how good and healthy I look. A part of me feels hurt, like she’s surprised that I could survive on my own, but I know I would get the same treatment if I still lived in Tulsa and had come over for a random family dinner.

Once she’s done with me, she turns to Carrick. She pauses for a second again, then another second, and then to my surprise, she wraps her arms around him. It surprises Carrick, too, judging by the soft ‘’oof” sound he lets out as my mother gives him one of the best, most loving and motherly hugs ever. I may be biased, but a Diana Hanson hug is the best hug there is, and the smile on Carrick’s face says that he’s aware of that fact now.

“Come on in,” she says, stepping back to let us in. “You can put your suitcases in the guestroom down here, by the stairs. Everyone else is already upstairs.”

We dump our suitcases in the room across from what I know is Zoe’s new bedroom. Even if I hadn’t known, the explosion of pink glitter and zebra print visible through the open door would have given it away. Our room is far more sedate, its large bed covered with a fluffy white duvet. I raise an eyebrow at Carrick to let him know that I too am surprised Mom would suggest we share a room. Maybe she’s more comfortable with our relationship than I thought. 

I don’t comment to Mom about that, though. I just give her a smile once the suitcases are safely deposited beside the bed, and let her continue rattling off what all is on the menu as she guides us up the stairs. Even from the landing, there’s plenty of chatter. I guess we really were the last to arrive. 

Except… not _everyone_ is here. 

Kate isn’t, of course. I knew she wouldn’t be here. Because of Shepherd and Junia, she will always be a part of the family, but she won’t be coming to every family event now. She and I had already talked about the holidays, and we agreed that she would bring the kids to California for an early Christmas after taking them to Georgia to spend Thanksgiving with her family. It seemed like a good plan. 

She and the kids aren’t the only ones missing, though. Taylor is here. All of his kids are here. But no matter how many times I look around, I don’t see Natalie. I suppose she could be in the bathroom, but the look on Taylor’s face when I accidentally meet his eyes tells me there’s more to this story than such a simple explanation as that. 

Natalie’s not here, and I don’t know _why_.

Because there are so many of us, we don’t do a real sit down dinner. The dining room table is just piled with finger foods that we can all choose from and find a spot to eat somewhere in the house. Even though I want to know what’s going on with Taylor and Natalie, I don’t dare ask Taylor, and I don’t really want to be around the whole crowd. 

Carrick is quickly pulled away from me and into a conversation about music with Isaac, who has his best fake smile on, and so I’m left entirely alone to go forage for something to eat.

After fighting the crowd around the table, I end up with some spinach dip and homemade Chex mix. It isn’t much, but I don’t feel so hungry now. The kitchen seems to be the least busy room in the house, so I make my way there and dig one of Dad’s beers out of the refrigerator.

“Drinking on Thanksgiving? Really, honey?” Mom asks, suddenly having appeared in the other doorway near the fridge. It makes me jump a little, and I wince at her words, but I can see she is trying to be funny, not judgmental.

I just shrug and force myself to smirk. “You want one too, Mom?”

“No, maybe not just yet,” she says, eyeing me for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She sighs. “You’ve… we’ve all… been through a lot lately. I just want to make sure my babies are happy.”

That seems like a good opportunity to ask the question that’s been plaguing me. “Mom, why isn’t Nat here?”

“Oh, sweetie, she… she and Taylor… well, he filed for divorce a few weeks ago. She’s staying with Pam.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. I know this doesn’t affect me directly, but why didn’t anyone tell me? Why couldn’t I know? The only person who might want to hide this from me is Carrick, for fear that I would leave him for Taylor, but surely Carrick didn’t know. I’m sure Kate did, and she didn’t tell me, either. I want to be angry, but I’m just too damn tired.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom asks again. “I thought… well, Kate said you were doing well out in California. And I’m so glad you and her are still talking.”

“We’re not getting back together,” I reply softly, even though I’m not even sure Mom was implying that.

She touches my arm softly. “I know that. I didn’t mean to suggest that.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer it if we did? If I was with her instead of… instead of with Carrick?” The last few words are said at almost a whisper. It’s the first time I’ve admitted to either of my parents that Carrick and I are dating, even though I know they must already know.

“Zac, honey, I just want you to be happy,” Mom replies, holding onto both of my arms to force me to look at her. “Is this what I would have chosen or what I expected? No, I suppose not. But all any mother wants is for her children to be happy. When Taylor and Natalie got married… well, I’ll be honest, none of us were pleased, at least not with the circumstances, and we’ve been holding our breath for this moment ever since. You and Kate, I wanted to believe had a better chance at happiness, even if you didn’t wait until you were much older. And I think if we had looked closely, we would have seen that you two weren’t ready to be together like that. You weren’t ready to be husband and wife, and maybe you weren’t right for each other at all, although I _am_ happy that you’ve built a friendship now.”

“But what about Carrick?” I ask.

“If he makes you happy, then I can’t complain. I know you’re expecting some argument that it’s a sin, but Zachary, happiness and love are _not_ sins. You can learn a lot from the church, but there are some things they can’t explain… some things you have to learn for yourself. Like I said, this isn’t what I would have chosen for you, just like teenage fatherhood isn’t what I would have chosen for Taylor. It’s not going to be an easy path, but it’s yours to walk down if it’s what you really want.”

“It is,” I whisper, nodding. 

“Then that’s good enough for me,” she replies, her own voice barely above a whisper. She blinks a few times, probably to hide her tears, then smiles. “Now, why don’t you come back out and join the party?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ll be right out.”

Mom gives my arms a squeeze, then walks out. I hate how shocked I feel that she’s so okay with my relationship with Carrick. Her reasoning makes sense, though. Of course she wants me to be happy. I shouldn’t have doubted her.

I do rejoin the party after a few minutes more hiding in the kitchen, although I stay on the fringes of it for the rest of the night. Carrick stays by my side as much as he can, but it seems my family have all chosen to accept him with varying degrees of open arms, and so he’s always being drawn into a conversation by one person or another.

When the party finally winds down and everyone else has left, Carrick goes straight to bed. I’m too wired to sleep yet, though. I guess I’ve adjusted to California time or maybe it’s just jet lag. Whatever the problem is, I find myself out on the screened in porch, looking out at my parents’ large backyard. 

It’s still warm enough on the porch even though November in Oklahoma is deceptively cold, despite the lack of snow on the ground. It’s warm enough, in fact, that after a while on the porch, sipping my third or fourth beer of the night, I start drifting off. I’m barely asleep, sort of suspended between asleep and awake, so when something starts scratching—no, knocking—at the door, it rouses me in a matter of seconds.

I pull myself out of the chair I’ve apparently fallen asleep in and rush to the screen door. It takes me a second to realize that the person under the hat and scarf, knocking on the door, is Taylor. When I do, I pause for just a second. Should I let him in? Why is he here, at the back door? Realizing I won’t get an answer to that unless I let him in, I unlatch the door and step back.

“Thanks,” he says, stepping inside and not even glancing my way.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting down a safe distance away from him on the couch he’s just sprawled himself across.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Taylor replies. “I wasn’t really up to driving all the way home, so I crashed over at the old house, and got in about twenty minutes before I was wide awake again. So, I went for a walk, and here I am.”

All his words make sense, but I still have so many questions for him, questions that have nothing to do with what he’s doing at this precise moment. “Mom, uh, she told me about… what happened with you and Nat.”

“Yeah? Did she tell you Nat isn’t going to sign the papers?”

“So you’re _not_ getting divorced?”

“Like hell,” Taylor replies, chuckling harshly. “I kicked her out, changed the locks and everything, but she won’t sign the papers. So she’s still going to be my wife, for whatever that means when she’s not living with me anymore.”

I fail to see how that’s really different from the situation they’ve been in for months now. But in a way, I suppose it is. Before, it was always just a matter of time before she came back. Now they’ve made it clear that they aren’t going to ever be a happy couple again, yet they _are_ still legally married. 

“Oh, I see,” I reply, even though I’m not sure that I really do.

“I guess it’s what we both deserve, huh?” Taylor asks, giving me a look that shakes me to my core. “I wanted her out of my hair, and I got it. She wanted to keep my name and my money, and she got that, too.”

“Yeah, but…” I begin, but I don’t have a way to finish that sentence. There’s nothing at all that I can say to him right now.

Taylor rubs his leg against mine, and at first, I’m not sure if it’s deliberate or not. I can smell alcohol on him—beer _and_ whiskey—so I know he isn’t all here. That’s probably why he didn’t drive home. Why he came back here, though, I’m a little fuzzier on. The more he rubs against me, inching closer until the right side of his body is flush against my left, the more an answer to that little question starts to form in my mind.

“Zac,” he says softly. “Why do you get what you want, but I don’t?”

“Probably because I know what I want,” I reply, a little more harshly than I mean, and definitely harsher than I knew I had it in me to be when Taylor’s body is this close to mine.

“Probably,” he agrees.

Then he kisses me.

I knew it was coming, I really did, but it still takes my breath away. I don’t want this. No, that’s not true. I don’t _want_ to want this. But I do. From the second his lips touch mine, that much is obvious. Even though my mind is screaming Carrick’s name, I can’t tear myself away from Taylor. I can’t resist him. I can’t push him away when he forces his tongue into my mouth. And I can’t hide that I’m getting hard.

What I can do, though, is hear footsteps.


	76. Weak

My heart stops. Everything stops. There’s no point in moving, because we’ve already been caught. I knew this was stupid. I knew nothing good could come from kissing Taylor again. I knew that it would only—

Carrick. It’s Carrick.

Of all the people who could have walked into this room right now, he’s without a doubt the best option. He already knows, and he hasn’t run away yet. Still, it isn’t a _good_ thing that he saw this. It might make me a horrible person, but I would feel much better if he didn’t know about this little indiscretion of mine. I certainly wouldn’t have told him if he hadn’t walked in.

I’m sure he can see the guilt on my face. I can’t read his face at all, though. I’m reminded of the last time he walked in on a scene like this, although it was far worse then. Or was it? I wasn’t cheating on him then, and he wasn’t so numb to such an awful sight. Now I have no excuse, no way to possibly justify the fact that I apparently can’t say no to Taylor. 

“Carrick…” I whisper, but I don’t know what words could possibly follow. I have nothing to say. 

He shakes his head, his lips set in a thin line. He pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear; it was, I assume, the reason for him wandering this way so late at night. Before I can think of anything to say to him, even something pointless and stupid, his long legs are carrying his across the room and out the screen door. Without even a look back at Taylor, I stand up to follow him. Immediately after I do, I hear Taylor’s footsteps.

“No,” I say as I spin around to face Taylor. “You’ve done enough here, don’t you think? Can you just let me fix this on my own?”

He scowls at me and storms out of the room. I figure that’s as close to a yes as I’m going to get.

Apparently interested in that little conversation, Carrick has frozen on the spot. He isn’t outside yet. He isn’t running yet, and so I still have a chance.

“Carrick, please…” I say, because they’re the only words that come to me.

“Please what?” He asks. “Please listen to you explain how you’re always going to go back to Taylor, and I just have to learn to live with that?”

“I’m not… going back to him,” I reply, glad that Taylor is at least a few feet away. He might still be close enough to hear this conversation, and I don’t doubt that he’s trying to hear it, knowing that it revolves entirely around him.

“But you are.” Carrick shakes his head and steps in closer to me. “You may not leave me for him, but you’ll never be one hundred percent mine. Maybe I shouldn’t ask that of you. I don’t know. All I know is that there will always be a part of you that won’t be able to resist him.”

I don’t say anything, because I can’t contradict anything he’s just said. He’s right, as much as I wish he wasn’t, and I’m sure Taylor knows he’s right, too. And I _hate_ that Taylor knows he’s right. 

“Tell me you don’t still want him. Can you tell me that, Zac?”

“I don’t want to still want him,” I say softly, staring at the floor.

Carrick puts a finger under my chin and lifts it, but before I can see the look in his eyes, he’s staring at a point over my left shoulder. I can feel Taylor’s body heat on me now. I wonder how long he’s been right there, hanging on our every word and I just didn’t notice. Of course he didn’t leave. Why would he?

“Zac… I’m…”

I shake my head, but don’t turn to look at him. “Don’t say it, Tay. You’re not sorry. You’re not. You never have been, not once in your life. _I’m_ sorry I’m not stronger.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” Carrick says softly.

I just shake my head, because I’m not. I know I’m not, he knows I’m not and Taylor knows I’m not. That’s why, I’m sure, Taylor is inching closer to me, one hand running up and down my back and sending chills all over my body. I hate him. He _knows_ what he’s doing. He knows he’s taking advantage of my weakness.

And he knows I’m weak enough to let him.

I swear I can actually see Carrick’s heart breaking as he watches Taylor pull me closer to him. I can’t watch this. I should _stop_ it so that Carrick doesn’t have to see it in the first place, but he’s wrong about how strong I am. All I can do is close my eyes so I don’t have to see him lose all faith in me. 

With my eyes closed, I can’t see what Taylor’s next move might be. I can’t even guess. His lips connect with my neck and it makes me jump, a fact that has Taylor chuckling against my skin in between soft kisses. It makes Carrick sigh, and the noise causes me to open my eyes. Even though I don’t want to see him, I realize that I have to know. If I’m going to hurt him, I have to know how much. I have to know how awful I am.

“I should go,” he says. 

I shake my head, but my mouth is too dry to speak. I know I put Carrick through this before, but I need him here. I want Taylor, but I don’t need him the way that I do Carrick; I realize that now. I hope Carrick understands the difference, too.

Carrick doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders drop in what looks like defeat as Taylor runs his hands over my chest. Carrick’s eyes are carefully trained on mine, ignoring everything Taylor does, especially as his hands move farther south to the waistline of my pajama pants. He may be staying, but it’s clear that he doesn’t have the strength to actually watch this. I don’t blame him.

I know I’m walking a thin line here, but I reach out and run my hand down Carrick’s chest. I want to reassure him, somehow, that this is okay, even though my mind is screaming at me that it’s really not. He flinches, but doesn’t move. I run my hand back up his chest and collarbone. It comes to rest on the back of his neck, effectively holding him in place. He blinks at me, looking almost shy and hesitant, then steps in closer until the gap between us has closed entirely and his lips are pressed against mine. 

The only thing between us now, literally and figuratively, is Taylor. His hand has crept down into my pants, finding the erection I didn’t realize was growing there and wrapping around it. I moan into Carrick’s mouth and to my surprise that seems to make him grow bolder. He places his hands on either side of my face, kissing me deeply and _almost_ making me forget what Taylor’s doing to me. I guess that’s the effect he’s going for.

When Taylor pulls away, I temporarily forget how to breathe. I have to pull back from Carrick to gasp for air… and to see where Taylor is going. He slithers his way between Carrick and me, falling to the floor between us. I don’t have to guess what he has planned next, but I am surprised when Carrick helps Taylor shove my pants down further, freeing me from their confines. He runs his fingers through my hair as I watch Taylor slowly, teasingly swirl his tongue around the head of my dick before finally taking me fully into his mouth.

This is insanity. This feels too good and too wrong all at the same time, and I’m finally realizing there’s no way to fix that. I have to just let it happen.

I raise my head up again and press my lips against Carrick’s. This time, he moans into my mouth, and I have to wonder if he’s really enjoying this or only going along with it because it’s what I want. Sometimes I think that for Carrick, that’s a distinction without a difference. Either way, he’s definitely breathing heavily as we continue to kiss and Taylor continues to suck my dick. I slide my hand down Carrick’s chest and into his pants, and I’m a little bit surprised to find that he’s hard. I’m even more surprised when I feel another hand join mine and I realize it belongs to Taylor.

Pulling back from the kiss, because I have to see this, I rest my head against Carrick’s and stare down between us. Taylor’s has the biggest portion of my length in his mouth, his eyelashes fluttering as he moves back and forth. One hand is on my hip to steady himself and the other is wrapped around Carrick’s dick, stroking him at a pace that very nearly matches the one he’s using on me. A low moan fills the air and it takes me a moment to realize it came from me.

Carrick and I practically have to hold each other up as Taylor continues pulling our strings. And that’s exactly what he’s doing. Logically, I know we’re both just puppets in whatever scheme he’s working on now, but that doesn’t change how good this feels or how close I am to coming. It doesn’t stop me from planting a hand firmly in Taylor’s hair so that he can’t move until I’m done. 

“Shit, Tay…” is all the warning I give him before I come, my entire body shaking as I feel him suck even harder. 

He licks up every drop I have to offer him, and I finally let my hand fall away from his hair. When I do, he turns his attention to Carrick, whose fingernails are digging into my arms as Taylor draws him closer and closer to his orgasm. My mouth hangs open in shock, my body tired and overstimulated but still turned on, as I watch Taylor take Carrick into his mouth, sucking him with just as much enthusiasm as he did me. In only a matter of seconds, I feel Carrick shake all over, his moan one that I know all too well. It’s not exactly the same sound he makes with me, but I still have no doubt that Taylor has gotten him off.

When Taylor pulls away and stands up, I’m left reeling. The spell that had been cast over all of us is broken. He rushes from the room with just one tiny glance back at me that leaves me even more shaken. I have no clue what he was trying to accomplish here, and maybe he doesn’t know either. Maybe he just plays these games because it’s all he knows how to do. 

I want to collapse into Carrick’s arms and let him make this all okay, but I know that he can’t. He’s pulling away from me, too, tucking himself back into his pants with his eyes averted. I do the same, then step in closer to him but there’s practically a physical wall between us. I can feel it, and I know who built it--me, albeit with a lot of help from my brother.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Carrick says softly, and I know there’s no arguing with him.

He turns to walk away and I follow him as he leads the way back to the guest room. He’s walking too fast for me to keep up with him, and by the time I make it to the bedroom, he’s already curled up with his back to me. The distance between us is only growing, and I don’t know how to fix it. All I can do is climb into bed and hope that when I wake up, all of this will have been an awful dream.


	77. Time

The next thing I know is a cold, unfamiliar bed. I already feel wrong before I even open my eyes, and that feeling only increases once I do open them and stare at my surroundings. It takes longer than it should for me to recognize that this is my parents’ guest room. That doesn’t solve the problem of the bed being cold and empty aside for my own body, though.

_Carrick._

I scan the room again, but it’s no use. He isn’t in here. The clock on the bedside table tells me that I’ve slept away the better part of the morning, half a day of my short vacation in Tulsa and time I could have spent fixing things with Carrick gone. 

And I still don’t know where he is.

It takes so much effort that I might as well be hungover, but I finally manage to pull myself out of bed. I don’t bother changing clothes, not caring at all how I look in my t-shirt and sweatpants. I just make my way to the door and walk up the stairs, hoping to find Carrick somewhere in the house. 

As soon as I hit the landing halfway to the second floor, I hear voices, and I follow them into the kitchen. Carrick is sitting at the table with my mom, each of them clutching mugs that I’m sure contain hot cocoa. The bag of mini marshmallows next to them is a dead giveaway, but so is the fact that my mom was famous around Tulsa for her hot cocoa before her sons ever dreamed of being famous themselves. She made it for every church get together once the weather turned cold, and she’d even peddle it in Styrofoam cups right along with our CDs when we played those early concerts. The only thing surprising about the picture in front of me is that both she and Carrick appear happy.

That happiness fades from Carrick’s face as soon as he sees me standing in the doorway. Of course, that causes Mom to look my way, too, but she’s oblivious to the tension. At least, she’s oblivious to the cause of it, which is good enough for me. 

“Oh, Zac,” she says. “You slept in, didn’t you? Well, there are plenty of leftovers, and if you’re really lucky, I might whip up something else for dinner, but you’re not getting anything out of me before then unless it’s a cup of cocoa.”

“You know I couldn’t come here and not have a cup,” I say, surprising myself with how nonchalant, even happy, I sound. 

It seems to fool Mom, too, and soon she’s dashing around the room whipping up her award winning recipe. With her back to us, I mouth the words _we need to talk_ to Carrick. I know he understands them, but he shakes his head. 

When I try to ask him why, he ignores me completely, and I decide it’s best just to drop the subject. I don’t intend for it to stay dropped for long, but the entire Hanson clan seems to have other plans. Throughout the day, nearly all of them—with the notable exception being Taylor—drop by to hang out and mooch off the considerable leftovers. What all that company means is that Carrick and I barely have a moment alone for the rest of the day, so even if he _did_ want to talk to me, it would still be impossible. He’s made it pretty clear, though, that he has nothing at all to say to me.

His silence stays for the rest of the day, even after we’re both tucked into the bed that I’m still amazed my parents are fine with us sharing. Carrick’s back is to me and my eyes are on the ceiling, trying to figure out how to begin this conversation before he falls asleep. He may be asleep already, or he may just be pretending in order to ignore me further. Either way, I’ve got to take a chance.

“Carrick,” I say softly but firmly. “We have to talk about yesterday. We can’t just ignore it.”

“I really think it would be better if we did.”

“I thought I was usually the one who ignored my problems and ran from them,” I remark.

“I’m not running from them,” he says. “I’m just trying not to think about something that is likely to make me sick if I spend more than a few seconds reliving it.”

“You didn’t have to do it.”

“Neither did you,” he replies, his voice almost inaudible.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe I did. Maybe there isn’t a difference between what I want to do and what I need to do, what I have to do. I don’t know anymore. I just know that I can’t… I can’t let myself give in anymore.”

“But you do,” he shoots back, rolling over to mirror my position, eyes in the ceiling. “Every time, you give in again, and every time you regret it. When will it stop? _Will_ it stop?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? Carrick knows I don’t have a good answer. I can’t predict the future. It isn’t fair of him to ask me questions like that, and surely somewhere deep down inside he realizes that. He’s a smart guy, after all. Smart enough to know that he’s putting up with far more of my crap than he ought to. I think I’m finally witnessing him realizing that.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit softly, so softly that I wonder if Carrick even hears it at all.

He simply rolls over and goes back to sleep. That’s the end of the conversation, but I hope, not the end of us.

****

The next day begins exactly the same way, with an empty bed and a quiet, distant Carrick. Our Tulsa vacation is over now, and we’re left going through the motions of packing and flying back to California. All the work involved in that, work that we’re both all too familiar with, keeps us too busy to have any sort of real and meaningful conversation, and I have a feeling Carrick likes it that way. I’m not sure why I want to talk so much, when I know whatever conversation we have couldn’t possibly end well. Everything, until this trip, has been going so well that I guess I just still feel so hopeful that it just _has_ to all work out somehow.

But it doesn’t. At least not right now. Right now, we’re just two people existing in the same space the way that Kate and I were for so long before we finally realized it was over. As soon as that comparison comes to mind, I hate myself for it. It’s not the same. We’re not the same. Carrick and I aren’t almost over.

Are we?

It’s a question I don’t want to think too hard about right now, and so I throw myself even more into the process of getting ready for our flight. There are bags to pack, all sorts of family to say goodbye to—but not Taylor, of course—and then all the security and red tape at the airport. 

Carrick buys a thick paperback at the airport’s gift store, and I know that’s a big hint. He really doesn’t want to talk to me at all. Sure, he’s a big reader, and so am I. It’s not unusual to see either of us reading during a flight, but I know on this particular occasion he’s sending me a message. If we didn’t have to sit right next to each other, I don’t think anyone would even realize we’re here together. 

I hate this. I really, really hate this.

What can I do, though? I can’t force him to talk to me. Sure, I could keep bugging him until he gives in and has another pointless conversation that won’t fix anything. I know that’s all that will happen. It’s obvious that Carrick won’t let any more than that happen, and since my answers to him won’t ever change, neither will the conversation. 

And so all I can do is wait. Wait for one four hour flight to end, and then wait the rest of my life.

Surprisingly, the flight seems to take no time at all. Somewhere over Colorado, I fell asleep. It’s a well-known fact that I can sleep through anything, even my entire world crashing down around me. It’s just exhaustion, I suppose. I’m not calm and relaxed; I’m just too damn tired of everything, too emotionally exhausted to go on. 

I could say it’s a good thing that the flight didn’t take long, but now Carrick and I are at an impasse again. My truck is parked at the airport and I know that if the weekend had gone fine, he would be riding home with me and most likely spending the night in my apartment. But now, I can’t even be sure he wants to spend another five minutes with me. 

“Hey,” I say as we pick up our suitcases like strangers. “Do you think… I mean, it would be stupid for you to call a cab…”

“Yeah, I guess it would be,” he replies listlessly. “Let’s not draw this out. You can give me a ride back to my house. Not to yours.”

It’s a better response than I expected, so I nod. I can’t quite bring myself to smile, though. Still… he isn’t totally refusing to be around me. Somehow, this feels like a victory.

I lead the way outside to my truck and take the initiative to load Carrick’s bags into the back for him. He doesn’t roll his eyes at my attempt to be chivalrous, but I’m sure he feels like doing it. I’d roll my eyes if I were him. Stupid little niceties can’t fix what I’ve done to him, no matter _how_ many of them I manage to throw his way. But in spite of how hard Carrick has been trying to ignore me, he isn’t mean enough to point out all of my flaws, and so he lets me open the door for him, too, and sits quietly in the truck while I drive toward his house. 

It’s a long, frustrating drive from LAX to Silver Lake, and Carrick is completely silent for all of it. I turn the radio on just to drown out that awful silence, but it does nothing to actually calm my mind. Of course it doesn’t. Nothing but talking to Carrick—which still seems impossible even though he’s only two feet away—will fix anything.  
When we finally arrive at his house, I pull into the driveway and put my truck in park, halfway expecting Carrick to just hop out, grab his bags and run off. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, staring out the windshield with his brow slightly furrowed. I have no clue what he’s thinking, but I can guess the general subject.

“Carrick… I don’t know what to say right now…”

“No,” he replies. “I suppose you don’t. I don’t either. If anyone did know what to say in a situation like ours, I think I’d be seriously worried about their sanity.”

“Yeah, well…” I reply, chuckling nervously. “I can say I didn’t mean for this to happen, and you know that. I can say it won’t happen again, but it might. I can say I know how awful he is for me and how wonderful you are and how much I love you… and all of that is true. You know all of that already. What I can’t do is go back in time and undo Thursday night. And right now, that’s all I want to do.”

Carrick shakes his head. “But still, all you have is words. There are no actions. None that you can really take, anyway. And until there are… and god knows what they could even be… I don’t know what we can do. I don’t know what we can _be_ , Zac.”

“You mean… like, us together?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I mean, I’m not breaking up with you. I don’t think… well, I don’t know what that would solve. I just need some time to think, and I know that is the lamest thing I could possibly say. But it’s the truth. I just need time.”

“I can give you time,” I say, not even stopping to think before the words come out.

It doesn’t mean they aren’t true, though. If time is what he needs, I’ll give it to him. I can give him anything, it seems, except fidelity and trustworthiness. And I suppose those are what matter the most.


	78. Missing You

For over two weeks, Carrick and I barely talk at all. I rarely see him in person, and our only other interaction is via text message. That’s about as impersonal as communication can get, and I can’t tell at all how he feels. He just keeps telling me that he needs more time. Whatever that means. I may have promised it to him, but it doesn’t mean that I understand it. I just know that I’ll do what he says.

And so, two weeks pass, and my life feels like it might be ending. The only thing keeping me going at all is knowing that I get to see my kids soon. Really soon. As soon as the plane lands soon.

Kate has to know something is wrong, because I haven’t been very talkative the last few times we have Skyped, but I don’t know how to explain this to her. How can I tell her I cheated on Carrick without telling her who? I wouldn’t cheat with anyone else. But Kate can’t know the way I’m drawn to Taylor, unable to ever resist him. We might have grown a lot closer since our divorce, but that would put an end to that quickly. I can’t come up with any other explanation for what has happened between me and Carrick, and so I’ve avoided all of Kate’s questions.

Determined not to worry her or the kids, I stand by the gate with a huge smile on my face. It’s only partially fake, because every time I remember that my babies are almost in my arms again, I feel so happy I could burst. Like my relationship with Kate, it’s taken being separated from them to really begin to appreciate them. Maybe that’s awful, since they’re my children, but I think playing house with Kate for so long had made me numb. Now I feel everything, the good and the bad. But right now, just the good.

As soon as they appear around the corner, I’m practically jumping up and down. I have to look ridiculous, but I don’t care. All that matters is those two little kids running through LAX to get to me. I scoop them both up into my arms, and I hope Kate doesn’t mind hauling all the luggage, because I’m not letting these two go until I have no other choice.

“I missed you guys so much,” I say, glancing at Kate over Shepherd’s head as I say it. I hope she understands that the sentiment is directed toward her as well, although not in the way I might have meant it in the past. It’s just that these last few weeks, I’ve really needed an ally here and our Skype conversations haven’t quite been cutting it. “How about we all go out for ice cream before we go back to my place, huh?”

The kids love that idea, of course. It’s a bit of a delaying tactic on my part, because my apartment here has become pretty sad, empty and quiet. I don’t know how to really explain that to Kate, so I’m going to just put it off as long as I can. Mostly likely, I still won’t know how to explain it, but I can at least delay thinking about it for a while.

We make small talk over ice cream, which mostly consists of the kids telling me all about preschool. Junia is too young to actually be in the class, but she’s tagged along on class trips and things and has plenty to babble about and is so enthusiastic about being part of the class as soon as they will allow her that it just amazes me. Even the simplest, most ordinary things amaze my kids, and god I wish I felt the same way about everyday life. 

When they’re done with their stories, Kate gives me a fairly short, terse update on how the family is doing at home. If I weren’t having problems of my own, I would probe her for more. I’m sure there are things she isn’t telling me, probably about Taylor and Natalie. Which brings me to the one question I’m too tactless _not_ to ask her now that we’re finally face to face.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Tay and Nat were separated?”

Kate shoots me a very fake smile. “Let’s talk about that later, okay? Not in front of the you-know-whats.”

It isn’t terribly subtle, but it’s subtle enough that our children, still consumed by their ice cream sundaes, don’t realize they’re being talked about. And Kate is right. It was stupid of me to bring up a subject like that in front of them. Even though I’ve been dying for an answer, I’ll just have to wait a little bit longer for it.

It takes the kids a few more minutes to make a big enough mess that we decide to call the meal done. There’s still ice cream melting in the bowls, but even more of it dripping down their chins and arms. My impatience only grows as we struggle to clean them up and get them back into my truck for the rest of the drive to my apartment, but I hang in there the best that I can. Once we arrive, I know it will still be several minutes before Kate and I have any privacy to talk.

Both kids take off running as soon as the door to my apartment is open. Every little thing is an adventure, and they are both amazed by my new house, it seems. I haven’t done a lot to their bedroom yet, since it has to serve both of them, but they seem perfectly happy with their Disney princess and Spiderman beds. Once their bags have been deposited and they’ve found toys to keep them occupied—a new video game for Shepherd and a set of blocks for Junia—we all head back to the first floor. 

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask Kate as I escort her into the kitchen and away from little, prying ears.

“No, thanks,” she replies, leaning heavily against the counter. “I guess you want me to answer your question, though.”

“It would be nice.” I say, grabbing myself a beer and opening it. I have a feeling I’ll need to be less than sober for this conversation.

Kate sighs deeply. “I guess I was trying to figure out the right way to tell you… I don’t know why I thought it would be such a big deal for you. I suppose because Natalie isn’t exactly your biggest fan, for reasons I still don’t understand. I’m not even sure I _want_ to understand them. All I know is… it just felt like I needed to find just the right way to tell you, and it’s completely on me that I procrastinated and didn’t tell you before Thanksgiving. I know I left you hanging.”

I shrug. “I can’t depend on you for everything. You’re right that I… well, I could have taken it far worse than I did, but I still didn’t take it well.”

“What is your deal with Nat anyway?”

It’s the one question I hoped she wouldn’t ask. Well, that’s not entirely true. Asking about my deal with Taylor would have been even worse, but the two are so tied up together that I can’t answer one without also answering the other, and I really, really don’t want to answer _either_.

Seeming to detect my unease, Kate quickly adds, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. If it’s some personal disagreement or something, then it’s between you guys. But if it’s something I _should_ know…”

“It’s nothing like that,” I nearly snap, then hate myself for it. Way to make myself look guilty. “You know she just never thought I was good enough for you, and the way everything happened… the way we divorced, the fact that I was—am—with Carrick… she’s just being judgmental. That’s all.”

Kate nods, seeming to accept my explanation. It might not be the whole truth, or anything else close to it, but it isn’t all lies. Kate just doesn’t need to know that Nat has far more reasons to judge me, reasons that I hope she will keep quiet now that she and Taylor have reached such a stalemate. I know her blackmail will always hang over my head in some way, but for now, I think the secret is safe.

“Well, that’s more of an explanation than she gave me,” Kate replies. She stares at me for a moment, not judgmentally, but just… searching, I suppose. Finally, she says, “Now, will you answer a question for me?”

“Depends on the question, but probably.”

“What’s going on with you and Carrick?” She asks.

“I knew you were going to ask,” I admit, realizing I really don’t have any sort of lie prepared for her. “We’re just… I don’t know. I did something stupid and now he needs time. I don’t think he’s reconsidering it _all_ , but…”

“He wouldn’t,” Kate says firmly. It almost sounds like a threat, not a reassurance, as though she intends to assure that he won’t reconsider our relationship.

“He might,” I shoot back. “It’s just… it’s stupid and complicated, and I don’t know how to explain it. Or how to fix it. I just have to give him his space.”

“I hate that phrase,” Kate says. “And I know I used to say it to you. That’s how I know it’s crap. I knew it was crap when I said it, but it’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Get some space, take some time and somehow everything will be magically better. But it won’t. You have to either work on it or admit that no amount of working on it will fix it. And you can’t work on it over the telephone.”

By the time she stops talking, she’s almost out of breath. These are things we’ve never really discussed before. We were the sort of people who just ran away and didn’t face our problems, and that’s why I’m allowing Carrick to do the same now. Because it’s all I know, but like Kate says, I know it’s wrong. I _know_ it won’t fix anything. Yet… how do I change it? How do I convince Carrick?

Rather than answer Kate, I decide just to down the rest of my beer as quickly as possible.

“You’ll tell me if I’m overstepping my bounds, right?” Kate asks. “I mean, your relationship with him is technically none of my business, but… well, I just want to see you happy. And you’re doing a good job of faking it, but I know you’re not, and you won’t be until you two fix whatever happened.”

“What if it can’t be fixed?” I ask weakly.

Kate reaches out and grasps my arm, as much to reassure me as to reprimand me, I think, judging by how firm her grip is. “You find a way. Or you don’t. But if you _want_ it to be fixed, then you’ll do what it takes. You two are too new to be like we were. Don’t let it fall apart yet.”

I just stare back at Kate and force a weak smile. I don’t know how to tell her that I think it’s too late. It’s already falling apart, and there’s no one to blame but me. I don’t know how she can be so optimistic when we let our marriage fall apart, but she has to realize that some things can’t be fixed, no matter how much you want them to be. That would require both of us to want it fixed. Carrick doesn’t seem to. I do, but I have a horrible way of showing it. Where we go from here… I just don’t know.

Not wanting to dwell on these awful thoughts anymore, I take a step back toward the living room, to be sure that the kids hear me, and say loudly, “Who’s ready to go out for dinner?”

It’s another delaying tactic, and Kate’s judgmental look says that she knows it. For now, though, she doesn’t call me out on it. For now, she just goes along with what I say, giving me the time and space I need to figure out how to follow her advice… or just continue pretending everything is fine. The latter seems a lot more likely.


	79. Talk

Dinner with Kate and the kids goes well, and I even manage to get a good nights’ sleep on my couch. That surprises me, given that it isn’t the most comfortable couch in the world, but I couldn’t sleep in my bed and force Kate to sleep on the couch. It’s a fairly meaningless gesture compared to all the things I’ve done wrong over the years, but if my relationship with Carrick has proven anything, it’s that meaningless gestures are all I’m good for.

My meaningless gesture for today is taking the kids to Disneyland. Junia was still a baby the last time we were in Florida, and neither of them have been to the west coast version, so it’s a huge adventure for all of us. When I suggested the trip, Kate looked skeptical, but by the end of the day, she seems energized while I’m exhausted. Funny how that works.

The kids are asleep before we even make it back to the apartment, and it takes both of us to get their limp, sleeping bodies tucked into bed so they can finish their afternoon nap. Once we do, we head back downstairs and I collapse onto the couch. Not Kate, though. She’s flitting around my kitchen, commenting on the lack of food and necessary cooking utensils.

“No offense, Zac, but aside from the cereal this morning, we’ve eaten out for every meal since we got here,” Kate says, slamming one of my cabinet doors. “Why don’t you run to the store and pick a few things up, and I’ll make us a nice, homemade dinner? I’m thinking spaghetti and meatballs, since you actually have the pasta. It’s one of the only non-frozen things you have, but you have it.”

“I’m thinking the kids aren’t the only ones who need naps,” I remark. “How are you still moving right now?”

Kate shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels good to do some things as a family again, though. I don’t mean to guilt trip you for moving out here or even say I want you to move back, but I just missed this. And I’m glad we can do this kind of thing again, even though we aren’t married anymore. It’s probably really weird, but it’s working, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I reply, nodding. “And you may not have been trying to guilt trip me, but it worked. Write me out a list while I go change clothes, and I’ll see what I can do.”

By the time I’ve changed into something less sweaty and relocated my phone, wallet and keys, Kate has a huge list of supplies waiting for me. The list ranges from ingredients to various utensils I hadn’t needed for my own limited cooking, and I have a feeling it’s going to take me a while. But I’ll do it. With a weak smile to Kate, I take the list and head out the door.

Sure enough, her list takes quite a while, and sends me to three separate stores before I manage to locate everything. If I didn’t know better, I would think that she was just trying to get me out of the apartment. For what purpose, though? Why could she need me gone? I’m clearly just exhausted, paranoid and not thinking straight.

When I pull back into my driveway, I notice a bicycle propped against the wall that I really don’t recall seeing earlier. It looks suspiciously like Carrick’s, but that makes no sense at all. Why would he be here? I’m almost afraid to walk inside and find out. Even though Kate and I are getting along better now, Carrick and I _aren’t_ , so I don’t see how having the two of them in the same place can possibly be a good thing.

Hesitantly, I open the door and peek my head inside. Silence. Then, after a moment, I hear Kate’s soft laughter from the kitchen. Laughter is a good sign, I decide, and I take a few steps inside, careful not to drop the load of canvas shopping bags in my arms. Sure enough, Kate and Carrick are both in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine and chopping some of the vegetables Carrick had brought me on the one and only visit he made to my apartment since telling me he needed space. Like Kate, I guess he knows I can’t survive on my own. Or maybe his garden just yielded more than he could eat on his own. Either way, they’re lucky I haven’t just let the veggies rot entirely before they showed up to take care of me.

I clear my throat to let them know I’m home, since neither of them seem to have heard the door open or my footsteps. Kate looks a little guilty--or maybe it’s just the wine making her blush--when she glances up at me. 

“Oh, Zac!” She says, rushing forward and grabbing a few bags. “I’m glad you’re back. We need to start on those meatballs.”

“Now I understand why I had to get frozen soy meatballs too…” I mumble, feeling like I might fall over when Carrick’s hand brushes against my arm as he too helps to relieve me of my burden.

Kate blushes more and now I know it isn’t just the wine. “I’m sorry, I probably should have told you I was planning to invite him… I just thought it would be nice to have a big dinner, that’s all. I know the kids miss him, too…”

The word _too_ is mumbled, barely tacked onto the end of the sentence, but I know Carrick hears it. He knows that Kate knows at least some of our problems. I wonder how much they’ve talked about me while I was gone…

“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind that I stole your laptop and gave him a call on Skype. I didn’t have his number, so it was the best I could do, and luckily he didn’t have any plans…”

“Just drawing yet another version of the new album artwork, but that can wait,” Carrick says softly, and if I didn’t know better, I would think he was embarrassed that those were his Friday night plans. It’s not as though he would be doing anything more exciting if the two of us were getting along; most of our “dates” were just the two of us sitting around the apartment, watching television and eating.

“Before you start on those meatballs, do you care to help me check on the kids?” I ask Kate, making sure to look directly at her so she understands that I want _her_ , not Carrick, to leave the room with me.

She seems to get the hint, and as soon as we’re out of the room and up the stairs, I stop walking, several feet short of the kids’ room.

“What the hell, Kate?” I ask. “You knew he wanted space. And you go behind my back and invite him over?”

“He said it himself; he was home all alone,” Kate huffs. “He doesn’t deserve that. And neither of you deserve to be without the other. So I’m sorry if I had to go behind your back to try to fix things for you. I was trying to do you a favor.”

I sigh. I can’t really be angry with her. “I know, I know. I just wish I’d had some kind of warning or something. This is really awkward, you know? We haven’t all been in the same room together since… well, since you found out.”

“And we’ve moved past that, haven’t we?” Kate asks. 

“Yeah, but… I just don’t know if your plan is going to work.”

Kate gives me a weak smile. “Well, at the very least, we’re all going to have a nice dinner. As long as no one above the age of four ends up wearing their spaghetti, I’ll call it a success.”

There’s a veiled threat in her statement and I hear it. I give Kate a quick nod to acknowledge that I hear it, and she seems to accept that. She scurries back down the stairs to resume cooking and, I assume, gossiping with Carrick about me. Gossiping is a harsh word, though. I’m sure she’s only trying to get an understanding of his side of this bump in our relationship. I can only imagine what sort of story he will come up with for her. It has to be better than what I’ve told her. 

Since it is what I supposedly came up here for, I decide I might as well check on the kids. When I do, I find Shepherd sitting up in bed playing with his DS while Junia is still out like a light. I decide to take the opportunity to get Shepherd cleaned up and ready for dinner, since I know I can’t handle trying to get both of them clean at the same time. Junia wanders into the bathroom anyway when I’m almost finished with Shep, and I send him off downstairs to bug his mom and Uncle Carrick. 

I can handle this. It’s only a small thing to get my kids ready for dinner, but I can handle this, and it feels good to know that. 

By the time I finally make it downstairs with two clean kids, Kate and Carrick are setting the table. Their conversation dies out as soon as I walk in, so I know they were still talking about me. God knows they’ve both seen the worst of me, so the fact that they’re still smiling—albeit sheepishly—is practically a miracle. The things they could say about me would have at least one of them running for the hills…

Our dinner conversation is friendlier than that, though. The kids mostly dominate it, babbling about preschool, toys, their cousins and anything else they can think of to tell Uncle Carrick about. It’s obvious that they’ve missed him. I didn’t even realize how attached to him they had become, and judging by the way he looks, I don’t think he has, either. He’s always been happy just to be an uncle to his brothers’ kids. I think his connection with my kids may be the closest he’s ever gotten to understanding fatherhood… and I hate that my stupid behavior might have gotten in the way of that. I hate that my behavior is screwing up _everything_.

“So, you’re almost finished with your album, right?” Kate says, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to Carrick.

“Yeah,” he replies, sipping his coffee. “We just need to get all the promo stuff in order. Which I suppose will mean a trip back to Tulsa soon…”

Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. Kate doesn’t seem shocked, though. She just nods. “Well, I know the guys are going to start recording again soon, so you two can go out there together.”

“We are?” I stare at her.

“Oh, I mean…” Kate stutters out. “Well, aren’t you? It’s just, I thought I heard something about going back to El Paso to record. I mean, you guys _are_ going to put out an album next year, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “And no one has said anything to me about El Paso.”

Kate pales a bit, obviously realizing she’s said too much. After a moment, she lets out a nervous laugh. “Well. I guess maybe you should talk to your brothers, then, before they record the whole thing without you.”

It’s obviously meant to be a joke, but I wouldn’t put it past them. And _talking_ to them is so much easier said than done, but Kate can’t know that. Carrick knows, though, and the way he’s clenching his jaw says that he’s thinking about exactly that.

Seeming to sense the tension she’s accidentally created, Kate jumps up and says, “Well, why don’t we have some dessert, kids? We’ll have a little ice cream and if you guys are good, I’ll let you watch a little tv after your baths. Sound good?”

The kids agree enthusiastically, seeing nothing at all wrong or unusual about Kate’s plan, but I know what she’s doing. She’s giving me and Carrick some privacy. What she thinks we have to say to each other, I’m really not sure. Whatever we say, I have a feeling this conversation will change everything… or nothing.


	80. Good Intentions

Kate ushers the kids out of the room quickly. Soon, they’re out of sight, and their voices fade away not long after, little more than a muted murmur that can’t distract at all from the awkward silence in the kitchen.

I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to fix things with Carrick, and his silence says that he doesn’t know, either.

“So,” I finally say. “I’m sorry that Kate… did this. I didn’t ask her to invite you over. I hope you know that.”

Carrick nods. “I do know that, and you don’t need to apologize. I think it’s really admirable that she’s trying to fix this, even though she has no clue. She really loves you, you know. I’m not saying that to guilt trip you or say that… that you two should still be together or anything. I just think you need to know and you need to appreciate what that really means.”

“I do,” I reply. “I really, really do. I think we’ve both only realized how much we love each other since the divorce. Which is really not how it should work, and probably not how it _has_ worked for anyone else. But since when I have I been normal?”

Carrick laughs, but it’s a bitter sort of laugh, and I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking about. 

“Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to really appreciate that, and to appreciate _everyone_ who really loves me… and I know who those people are. At least, I thought I knew. And I don’t want to doubt how you feel about me.”

“I don’t want you to doubt it, either,” he says softly, but there’s no question about his meaning. “You know I love you. You know that isn’t going to change. I just need to know that your feelings for me aren’t going to change.”

“How can you know that? What can I do to show you that?” I ask.

“That’s something I don’t have the answer to,” he replies. “I just have to see it. You have to show me. What form that proof will take… I don’t know.”

“But you haven’t seen it yet,” I finish for him.

He stares at me for a moment, and it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know what he’s looking for. After a moment, he glances off into the distance, and finally, he speaks. “I see it sometimes. Little glimmers of it. But it fades. It always fades, and you always go back to him. I know he’s got this magnetic pull and he’ll always draw you back to him. I’ll never be him, Zac, but I don’t want to be. I want to be better for you and to you, but if you won’t let me… if you won’t be better to me than Taylor is to you… then I don’t know where that leaves us.”

I know he’s right. I’ve thought it myself, but never had the guts to really admit it, and never has Carrick said it before. But he’s so right. I’ve been just like Taylor. I’ve ignored his feelings, ignored my own feelings and walked all over him. I don’t deserve any better than Taylor deserves.

But maybe… just maybe… the fact that I _know_ I’ve been so awful and don’t want to be that way… maybe that means I can change. Maybe that means there’s still hope for me… for us.

“I don’t know where it leaves us either,” I finally admit. “But I know where I don’t _want_ it to leave us. I don’t want us to be over, Carrick. I don’t know what I need to do to keep that from happening, but I understand that it won’t happen with just words. I have to _show_ you how much I love you. And I do. You have no idea, because, well… I haven’t shown it. But I will. I swear I will, for all that my promises mean.”

“They mean more than you think,” Carrick admits, not meeting my eyes.

“Good,” I reply. “I just… I can’t lose you. I can’t. You’re the only thing that has kept me sane over the last six months and I don’t know where I would be without you.”

“You’d still have Kate,” he points out.

“But not like that. We’re not getting back together, and I don’t think we would be getting along this well if we were together. This change in my relationship with her… it couldn’t have happened if we’d stayed _in_ a relationship.”

Carrick nods. “See, when you say things like that, I can see how smart you are. You don’t see it; I know you don’t. But you are so intelligent, so much more than anyone has ever given you credit for. And so much more loving. And if _you_ would start giving yourself credit for those things… I think you’d be shocked how much better everything would be. You can tell me you love me, and I do believe it, but you have to love _you_ , too.”

“How do I do that?”

He shakes his head. “That’s another thing you’ll have to figure out for yourself. And I’m afraid that if you’re with anyone, you’ll lose yourself in them. I didn’t know you before you were with Kate, but I’ve seen you sink farther down into the pit that marriage became. I’ve watched you fade away when you’ve thrown yourself at her, at Taylor… and I don’t want to see that happen with me.”

“It won’t,” I immediately reply, but how do I really know? That’s a promise I can’t make.

“You don’t know that,” he replies, echoing my thoughts. “And I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it just… it scares me. I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong, too. That somehow it will be my fault that this all doesn’t work, because it’s not like I didn’t go into this knowing you’d never be one hundred percent mine.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. It could never be your fault. And I _want_ to be one hundred percent yours.”

“Then do it,” Carrick says. “As much as I enjoy talking… it’s time for action. Figure out how to show me, and then do it. It’s as simple… and as difficult… as that.”

“Yeah… sounds like a cinch,” I reply, chuckling a little.

Carrick actually cracks a smile at that, and reaches over to pat my knee. It would make me feel belittled if I didn’t enjoy that little bit of physical contact with him so much. Still smiling at me, he says, “It’ll be okay. Somehow… it will be okay.”

“I hope you’re right,” I reply. “And once again, I’m sorry that Kate set this all up.”

He shrugs. “Don’t be. We needed to talk, but I think we were both too stubborn to do it on our own.”

“Out of curiosity… what did Kate say about me? And what did you say to her?”

“She told me that she could see how much you were hurting, and that she didn’t care what had happened or whose fault it was. She just wanted to see you happy. And I told her that was all I wanted, too, but I had to believe that _you_ wanted it, too,” he replies. After a pause, he adds, “You know I didn’t tell her anything about you and Taylor. I wouldn’t.”

I nod. “I know. I didn’t think you had. I just didn’t know… how else you could explain what happened.”

“Whatever you told her must have been enough,” he says. 

“I just told her that I betrayed your trust,” I tell him. “And that I want so badly to prove to you that I won’t do it again.”

“And I think you know how to do that,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I do.”

He gives my knee another pat, then stands up. “I think I’m going to head out. Tell Kate thanks… for everything. And I’ll see you soon, I guess. In Tulsa.”

Even after we say goodnight and he leaves, the words _in Tulsa_ are echoing in my brain. I don’t want to go back. I collapse on the couch and let out a huge groan. I don’t know if I will survive a trip back to Tulsa. This will be the ultimate test. If I’m ever going to be able to prove to Carrick than he can trust me and that I love him, I know what I have to do. Or rather, what I have to _not_ do. 

I can’t be with Taylor. I can’t do what I’ve done. I can’t be like him. I have to be better, and it will start with this next trip to Tulsa.

“So, you’re still alive,” Kate says suddenly. I hadn’t even realized she was in the room, but here she is, standing over me with a curious look on her face. “I don’t see Carrick, though, but I’m going to hope that isn’t a bad sign.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not. He just went home for the night. Told me to tell you thanks for dinner and everything. What about the kids?”

“Oh, Junia was practically asleep before we got up the stairs, so she’s in bed. I tucked Shep into your bed and put one of his cartoons in the dvd player. He’ll be out soon, too.”

“Sounds good,” I reply, scooting over to allow Kate to sit down next to me. “I’m not sure I’ll be awake much longer either. It’s been a very… long day.”

“That it has,” she replies. “But hopefully not a bad day?”

“Not as bad as I expected when I realized you had invited him over,” I admit, not meeting Kate’s eyes.

She scoots a little closer to me, either out of curiosity or in an attempt to comfort me. “How did that go, by the way? And again… I’m sorry if I made things worse.”

“You didn’t,” I reply, shaking my head. “Not really. I think we needed to talk. But like he said, we were too stubborn to do it on our own. I don’t know what the conversation really accomplished… but it gave me a lot to think about.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

I let out a soft laugh. “I guess that depends on what I do with what we talked about. Whether I actually… use it to try to fix things, fix myself, or if I just let myself stew and beat myself up.”

“Haven’t you done enough of that?”

“Of what?”

“Beating yourself up,” she says. “I know I didn’t help… I probably made you feel worse at times… but you aren’t a bad guy, Zac. You really aren’t. Whatever you did… whatever it was that hurt Carrick _and_ you so much… I know you well enough to know it was never your intent to hurt him.”

“Good intentions only go so far,” I remark. 

“Then you’ll have to go farther on your own,” Kate says with a shrug, like it’s the most obvious answer. And in a way, it is.

“I just have to figure out _where_ to go.”

Kate leans softly against me. “You know what’s right, Zac. I know you do. Whatever’s right… wherever it feels right to go… _that’s_ where you go and that’s what you do. Take those good intentions and do what they tell you to do. Don’t just count on them to absolve you of any wrongs.”

I nod, because what can I say to that? Without any clue what she’s really talking about, Kate has managed to be completely right. I hope she knows how lucky I feel to have her on my side now, when she has every reason not to be. At times, it feels like she’s the only one who is… but maybe, just maybe, Carrick hasn’t given up on me yet.


	81. Goodbye Hello

Airports have always had a constant presence in my life, and I never really gave them that much thought. Lately, though, every trip to the airport seems like it could change everything about my life. It’s always some big, watershed moment, and usually one that I dread.

Today, I dread it because it means Kate and the kids are flying back to Tulsa. 

I know I can survive without her here for moral support, and I know I’ll get to see the kids again around Christmas, but knowing those two things don’t make me feel any better about watching them leave today. It’s been a few days since Kate’s dinner scheme, and although I’ve been busy taking the kids to see all the sights and sounds Los Angeles has to offer, I haven’t stopped feeling Carrick’s absence acutely. He hasn’t been back to visit since that night, and I’m afraid without Kate here to force us together, we’ll never reconcile.

I stay at the airport as long as possible, because even though airports aren’t my favorite place right now, being right here with my kids and Kate is. As long as I’m with them, even though I know we’re not a happy family anymore, I can pretend that nothing else in my life is wrong.

But of course it has to end.

Kate and the kids linger as long as possible after their flight is called, too. Although Shep and Junia cling to me and repeatedly tell me how much they will miss me, I’m speechless and so is Kate. This isn’t really how I planned for this trip to go or to end. This isn’t how I planned for anything to go, and I wish I could apologize to her for everything, especially bringing her into all of my problems. 

“It’ll all work out,” Kate says softly, like she’s read my mind. “But you better call me every day and let me know how you are.”

“It won’t be long until I see you again,” I reply. 

“No, it won’t,” she says. She looks like she wants to say more, but the PA system crackles to life and gives the final boarding call for her flight. She gives me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, and whispers in my ear the same assertion that everything will be okay.

I hope she’s right.

After we’ve said goodbye and they’ve boarded the plane, there’s no reason for me to stay at the airport, except to keep pretending the rest of my life doesn’t exist. But it’s my ability to kid myself and believe things that just aren’t real that have gotten me into so much trouble over the years. 

So I go home, back to my sad, empty condo. I know I can’t return to Tulsa, but right now, even that would be—in some ways—less depressing than this place. I had only just started to move in when the bottom dropped out. Now I’m suspended in motion here, stuck in something that barely counts as existence, and definitely not as living, in an apartment that’s not even halfway furnished. The term “bachelor pad” is far too generous for this place or for my life at the moment. 

I don’t know how long I lay on my couch, feeling sorry for myself, but my pity party is eventually interrupted by the doorbell. That’s weird. There’s only one person left in Los Angeles who is even remotely likely to show up at my door, and he’s only a very, very remote possibility at the moment. 

But it’s him. A quick peek through the peephole shows Carrick on my doorstep with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a strange expression on his face. I waste no time opening the door, both anxious and a little scared to know why he’s here.

“Hey,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking so sheepish that he seems a foot shorter than he really is.

“Umm, hey,” I reply, then step back to let him in. “Come on in, I guess?”

Carrick steps into the living room and wordlessly takes a seat on the couch. I watch in confusion as he pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it up on the coffee table. At some point, surely, he’s going to explain what the hell he’s doing, acting like nothing at all has happened between us and it’s perfectly normal for him to just walk in here and make himself at home.

I clear my throat loudly. “Umm, Carrick?”

“Okay, don’t hate me for this,” he says. “I know this is kind of a manipulative move like Kate made with dinner that night. But I think it’s best for now.”

“You think _what’s_ best for now?”

I’m answered by the sound of Carrick sending a Skype call, although it really isn’t an answer at all. 

“Who are we calling?” I ask.

“Your brothers,” Carrick replies. “I know you don’t want to see them, but you _do_ need to talk to them. And so do I. This way we can kill two birds with one stone and I hopefully won’t have to go back to Tulsa.”

I’m sure this is all about him not wanting to go to Tulsa, and helping me is only an afterthought, but I really appreciate it. It’s not like I can avoid going back to Tulsa, or at least to El Paso, apparently. And the fact that my brothers have made that decision without me… well, that’s something we definitely do need to discuss, so I take a seat on the couch just as I see their faces pop up on Carrick’s screen.

“Hey,” we both say listlessly.

“So, this is weird,” Ike says, chuckling softly. “A conference call with my brother and… well. Anyway. So, what’s up?”  
Carrick glances at me, and I stare blankly back at him. I know I need to confront my brothers, but I wasn’t expecting to have to so soon. When it’s obvious I’m not going to speak, Carrick clears his throat. “Well, umm, speaking on behalf of Austin—we’re just about done mixing the album and all the artwork is ready to be printed. So I can mail you all a copy of it when it’s done to get the final approval. The money you guys put up plus what we got on Kickstarter should be more than enough for the first printing, so after it’s all finalized, we’ll start sending out the prizes to the backers. And… I guess that’s about it.”

“Sounds good, sounds good,” Isaac replies, nodding. 

Taylor makes only a vague, bored sound of agreement, and it takes all my strength not to roll my eyes at how difficult he’s being. It’s not going to make what I have to say next any easier.

Ike glances at Taylor, seems to think better of saying anything to him, then turns to face the camera again. “Any input, Zac?”

“Well,” I say. “I would like to know about these plans to record in El Paso, I guess.”

“Somebody,” Isaac replies, his eyes flickering to Taylor just long enough for me to get the hint, “was supposed to call and tell you about that. Obviously, that didn’t happen. But yeah, we were thinking next week. I realize it’s now really short notice, but it is booked so… if we’re going to put an album out any time in the next decade, we should _all_ try to be there.”

I nod. “Yeah, well, luckily I don’t have anything else going on here. So I’ll be there.”

 _For better or worse_ , I think, but don’t say out loud.

“Great,” Ike replies. “If you’ve got anything you’ve been working on, feel free to bring it. We need to get everything on the table and see if we can get at least half an album’s worth of strong demos done. And that’s not counting the stuff we were already working on.”

“He’s not asking much, is he?” Taylor quips. I shouldn’t be surprised that the first time he’s opened his mouth during the entire Skype call, it’s to make a smartass comment.

“Not at all,” I reply tersely, both because I don’t want to talk to Taylor and I don’t want to think about how it’s mostly my drama that has made us so behind on this album.

Isaac sighs. “Look, we’ve got a good two weeks to work before Christmas, and we had some good stuff before we took such a long break. I think we can pull it together.”

I wish I could share his optimism. Hell, I wish I could accurately call it optimism. It isn’t, really; that’s not a characteristic Ike has ever been known for. This is more like sheer stubbornness, wrapped up in obliviousness about how much I hate Taylor and all tied up neatly with a bow made of the desire to be able to feed and clothe his family. But he is right. We _have_ to get this album done, and so in spite of my feelings about Taylor, I’ll be right there with him in El Paso next week.

“Yeah, alright,” I say. “I’ll book my flight as soon as we’re done here. By the way, are we done here?”

Ike looks a little annoyed at my abruptness, but I think he also realizes that it’s not an exactly comfortable conversation. After another sigh, he says, “I suppose. Oh, Mom wanted to know if you were staying with them for Christmas? Also, you should call her more often.”

“Okay, okay,” I reply. “I’ll call her after I book the flight.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Carrick say, which earns him a soft laugh from Ike and an empty stare from Taylor.

“And I’ll see you guys in a few days,” I add. 

“Sounds good,” Ike replies. “Don’t have too much fun out there in Cali, alright? See ya later.”

It isn’t the most emotional of endings to the call, especially since Taylor has said less than a dozen words the whole time, but it seems oddly fitting. I plaster a smile on my face and wave at the screen until Carrick ends the call and my brothers’ faces vanish from the screen.

“You know, we didn’t have to put on such a happy face for them,” I say as Carrick closes his laptop.

“Yeah, we kinda did,” he replies. “I mean, they don’t need to know… how things are going. Ike definitely doesn’t need to know, and telling Taylor that he’s gotten under our skin will only make him worse. He doesn’t care what people think about or feel for him; he just cares that he’s on their mind at all. I don’t want to give him that satisfaction.”

“I guess you’ve got a point,” I admit. 

“Just don’t… I don’t want you to read too much into this, alright? I still don’t know how I feel about things between us, but I know how I feel about your brother.”

I nod, but any happiness I had previous felt vanishes. I should have known that Carrick wasn’t trying to make some huge statement about our relationship by doing this for me. If anything, it was more for his benefit than for mine. The urge I had felt to kiss Carrick quickly fades away and I scoot away from him ever so slightly.

“Having said that…” Carrick sighs. “When you’re in El Paso and Tulsa, don’t hesitate to call me if you need to talk. And I have a feeling you’re going to need to talk.”

“You think?” I ask, giving him a smirk to let him know I’m not angry.

“I think you need to talk a hell of a lot more than you do… and maybe do some of that, and some thinking, before you act.”

“You may be right,” I admit, still smirking. 

“Being right _is_ a bad habit of mine,” he replies, nodding soberly.

Leave it to Carrick to make me laugh when I want to be upset that nothing is going how I want it to go. Again, I’m not angry with him. I don’t think I ever have been or could be angry with him. I only wish he could feel the same way about me, but as long as I keep doing like he says and acting without thinking, I know I’m going to find new and creative ways of upsetting him.

I can only hope not to find any of those ways during the trip to Sonic Ranch.


	82. Pleasure With The Pain

I like El Paso and Sonic Ranch. I really do. It’s just that right now, I can’t remember _why_.

It’s not the heat, because I’ve been in California long enough that only needing a light jacket to go outside in December isn’t weird to me. It’s not the food, because the people who run this place keep us well fed with all our Tex-Mex favorites. 

It really all just boils down to one thing… Taylor. But doesn’t everything in my life?

We’ve been here three days already and actually managed to lay down the rough versions of a few songs. It’s seriously cramped quarters, with all of our equipment stuffed into the living room of Condor House, the little hacienda we’re all staying in. I spend a lot of my time outside, finding places to hide away and write things on my own, turning the snippets of my craziness that I’ve scrawled into notebooks over the last few months into actual lyrics. In the early mornings and evenings, we all come back together to work, and in spite of our differences, we’ve gotten a lot done. 

Tomorrow morning, we move all of our equipment out of here and into the actual studio where we’ll try to turn all those demos into something that just needs polishing and mixing. In celebration of how successful of a trip it’s been, everyone is getting drunk tonight. And I mean everyone. I think the entire ranch runs on alcohol most of the time anyway, and Isaac brought with him a very rough draft of our future Hanson-branded beer, so he’s everyone’s favorite person at the moment.

As for me, I’ve stolen an entire six pack of the stuff and am hiding in a little alcove off the side of one of the other haciendas, just praying that no one at all finds me.

Naturally, the second I hear footsteps approaching, I don’t even need to look up to know that they belong to Taylor. And so I don’t—look up, that is. My eyes remain glued to the ground, mesmerizing by the bottle I’m spinning around with my finger. 

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice even raspier than usual. That’s a good sign that he’s drunk, if the stench of liquor and cigarettes emanating from him wasn’t enough of a clue.

“What do you want?” I ask, surprising even myself with how angry I sound. 

“To see why you aren’t at the party,” Taylor replies, sitting down next to me and ignoring the fact that I scoot away from him. He just follows me and gives my shoulder a nudge. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

I don’t bother answering with words. I’m pretty sure the glare I shoot him answers his question. Judging by the grin he gives me in return, it does not.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Taylor drawls, ignoring the fact that I’m still glaring at him. “I’ve missed you since you moved, you know.”

“No, you’ve missed _getting laid_ since I moved,” I correct him.

“If that was what I meant, that would have been what I said,” Taylor replies, actually sounding a little hurt. But only a little.

I sigh. I don’t know what to say to that. A drunk Taylor is a very easily pissed off Taylor, but the urge to argue with him only intensifies with every drink he has. The fact that I’m not sober right now doesn’t help, either. I just wanted to get drunk enough to make sleep come easily. That was all I wanted. I didn’t want to party; I wanted to pass out and _avoid_ the party. I should have known Taylor wouldn’t make that easy. When has he ever made anything easy?

He snakes a hand into my hair and I don’t even bother telling him to stop. I just sigh again. “I can’t do this, Taylor. Not anymore.”

“What changed?” He asks.

“I guess I did,” I reply. “I just can’t… _we_ can’t do this. It’s fucking everything up, and you know it. After everything that’s happened, after as many times as you’ve told me we shouldn’t do this… apparently I have to be the one to end it.”

“You didn’t seem to want to end it last time.”

“Yeah, actually, I did. I’m just too weak, and I’m going to keep being too weak. So every time we’re together, I have to fight this, because I _know_ it’s not good for me. And it would be a hell of a lot easier to fight if you hadn’t suddenly decided you wanted it.”

“I just want my brother back,” Taylor says softly. I’m not sure if he sounds surprisingly lucid or even farther gone. 

“Yeah, so do I,” I reply. I wriggle away from him, letting his hand fall away from my hair before he can twist it in any deeper. “But he’s too drunk to have this conversation with right now.”

There’s something ironic about the fact that I’m leaving Taylor this time, but I’m just tipsy enough not to want to think about that too hard. Without another look back at Taylor, I stand up and walk back toward our house. Hopefully the party has moved outside and it will be quiet enough for me to crawl into bed and die.

Condor House is quiet, at least, but the remains of the party are lying all around—half empty bottles and plastic cups littering every surface. After that encounter with Taylor, I don’t have the strength to stop myself from picking up a bottle of Jack and downing a huge gulp of it. I don’t even like whiskey. But that gulp is followed by another, and then another… and then another. By the time I’m done, the bottle is significantly lighter, but my body feels much, much heavier.

It’s stupid, really, the way people think getting drunk is a good way to forget. It isn’t. It does the exact opposite, bringing everything you wanted to forget right to the forefront of your mind and magnifying it. I know that, and yet I still downed that whiskey so fast that I can barely walk the few steps down the hallway to my temporary bedroom. It feels like it takes me ages to get there, every inch of my body torn between running back to Taylor and running to the bathroom, but finally I collapse onto the bed.

Sometimes, I really hate myself. I hate how I react to things. Even though I didn’t give in to Taylor, I didn’t handle his advances all that well either. If they even were advances. If he was even sober enough to have any clue what he was doing.

I just don’t understand him, and I’m realizing that I probably never will. I doubt he understands himself either, and while that should make me pity him, it really doesn’t.

I can smell him on me and practically still feel his hand in my hair, just gently playing with it, so subtly that it almost might not have been happening at all. But it was, and even that tiny gesture makes me feel sick. Or maybe that’s the liquor talking. The thought of Taylor touching me has never made me feel sick before. Whatever the cause—and I’m leaning toward the liquor—it quickly becomes obvious that I’m _actually_ going to be sick. 

With an energy that I didn’t know I had, I jump out of bed and rush off to the bathroom down the hall. I barely land in front of the toilet in time, just seconds before all that liquor and everything I’ve eaten today comes rushing up my throat and out of my body. Unlike throwing up when you’ve got some stomach bug, throwing up when you’re drunk only leaves you feeling worse. I hate that. Even after there’s nothing left in me, I stay in the floor, clutching the toilet, too weak to move.

It could be hours or mere minutes later when I finally find the strength to move. I only make it as far as the sink, where I hold onto the counter for support and stare at myself in the mirror. I look awful, and not just because there’s puke on my face, although that definitely doesn’t help. I know Taylor is the one I should be angry with, but right now, it’s the guy I’m staring at in the mirror who I hate.

The guy with vomit in his hair.

I turn the faucet on and dunk my head under the water, which leaves me coughing and sputtering. It wasn’t my most well thought out plan, really. I must still be drunk, because it only gets worse from there. My hands fumble in the drawer below the sink, although I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Not until I find a pair of scissors. Sure, I could just wash the puke out of my hair, but right now, in my current state of mind, cutting it off seems like a better solution.

Maybe then I won’t feel the memory of Taylor’s hands in my hair.

At some point, I look down at the sink full of my hair and the sight is enough to sober me up. Sure, the room is still spinning, but my mind seems clearer. I don’t know what just came over me. Except I do. It was Taylor. It’s always Taylor. 

Defeated, and unsure what I’ve just done, I toss the scissors down and walk back to my bedroom. I don’t even bother cleaning up the mess I’ve made. With all the drunks around, a little hair in the sink is probably the least of our worries come morning. It’s definitely the least of _my_ worries.

I strip my clothes off before falling into bed; I might not have puked on them, but they feel and smell gross anyway. Once I’m wearing nothing but my boxers, I feel a little bit better. But only a little. There are still so many things wrong, so many things that I can’t even begin to fix. In the past, when I felt this way, I knew I at least had one person I could turn to—Carrick. 

He _did_ say I could call him while I was gone, though.

I fish my phone out of my pants and scroll through my text messages until I find one from Carrick. He said I could call, but I don’t want him to hear me like I’m sure I sound right now. My spelling is horrible at the best of times; if anything, it might actually be better when I’m drunk. So I type a quick message and send it off.

_I know its not that late there but I hope u r still up and we can tlk_

I pass out before he can reply. 


	83. Like A Living Shadow

When I wake up, everything feels wrong. It takes me a moment to figure out where I am and that the unfamiliar bed is the reason I feel so off kilter. Then I reach up to run a hand through my hair, and the _other_ reason that I feel out of place in my own skin right now becomes clear. Through the haze of alcohol, I remember hacking away at my hair last night, although I can’t really explain why I did it. I don’t exactly regret it, because it’s only hair, and I know it will grow back. But I don’t understand the feeling that came over me last night, and that’s a little bit scary. 

If anyone asks, I’m just going to blame it on the alcohol.

I wait as long as possible before finally pulling myself out of bed. I wouldn’t do it even then, if I didn’t already hear distant voices and movement; they’re already loading things up to move to the full studio and I know I should be helping. So, reluctantly, I crawl out of bed and put on something that looks and smells at least cleaner than I do. That’s the best anyone is getting out of me today.

There’s no one in the kitchen when I walk in, so I feel safe enough. Before I’ve even managed to pour myself a glass of orange juice, I hear footsteps. They stop short in the door, and I don’t dare turn around to see who they belong to.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” Isaac asks.

I let out a sigh of relief that it’s only him, and consider my options. The look on his face is so comical that I can’t resist going with a comical answer. Shrugging, I say, “It seemed easier than washing out the puke.”

Ike just shakes his head, because what can he really say to something like that? Making completely ridiculous statements to distract from what’s really going on and what I’m really feeling has always been a strength of mine, and it serves me well now that all of this shit is going on with Taylor. If it weren’t for those pictures, which I hope like hell have really all been destroyed, I think we could have kept our relationship hidden forever.

Relationship.

That’s not what it is. That’s never been what it was, and I think I’m only just realizing that. No, I’m not just realizing it. I knew it all along, I think, but I didn’t want to accept it. There’s a subtle but important difference there. 

While I ponder that, Ike just stares at me like he thinks I’m probably still a little bit drunk, and maybe I am. If not, maybe I should be. There’s a bottle of vodka on the counter, and I suddenly feel a strong urge to turn this orange juice into a screwdriver. I stop myself just short of doing it, though. Running from my problems, or drowning them in alcohol, won’t fix anything. The former is what gets me into trouble and the latter is what gets Taylor into trouble. God knows I don’t want to be any more like Taylor than I already am, so I just down my orange juice straight and say a silent prayer for the strength to get through the day sober.

No one else sees fit to comment on my hair as I finish my breakfast and join the crowd of people hauling our gear across the ranch to the studio where we will be actually recording the album. I can feel them all looking at me, but no one says anything. 

Actually, they aren’t _all_ looking at me. Taylor doesn’t even seem to notice that I exist, and I can’t decide if I prefer it this way or not. It would certainly make some things easier, but being in a band with him might be more difficult if he never acknowledges my existence again. 

Of course, Taylor has the attention span of a gnat, so even his attempt to ignore me is short lived, coming to an end once everything is set up and Ike is fiddling with his guitars like the perfectionist he is. 

“Why did you cut your hair?” Taylor asks, leaning against the mixing board.

I want to give him the same answer that I gave Ike, but instead, the words that come out of my mouth are, “Because it’s easier than cutting out my heart.”

He just stares at me for a moment, and I don’t blame him. I don’t even know why I said that, even if it is true—literally and figuratively. I can’t expect Taylor to understand something like that, though, when it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that he just doesn’t understand or experience normal human emotions. 

“Just forget it,” I say, shaking my head. “I felt like hacking my hair off when I was shitfaced, so I did. Big deal.”

“What does that have to do with cutting your heart out?” Taylor asks.

I sigh. Answering him is unavoidable, so I stare him down with as much strength as I can muster. “Sometimes, Tay, I swear I can feel you under my skin, and it makes me want to rip my skin off completely. If I could scrub every bit of your touch--everything we’ve done this year--off my body, I would do it in an instant. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t want it, or even that I don’t _still_ want it, but I hate myself for it so much. All that guilt you seemed to feel for a while there? It’s not like I didn’t feel it before, but now it’s hitting me like it never has, and I can’t do this, Tay. I can’t. My hair is just the only part of me you’ve touched that I can actually chop off.”

When I’m done, I’m out of breath, but I feel free. For the first time in years, I feel free. The weight of everything I feel for Taylor… well, it might just be dangling over my head waiting to fall on me again, but for now, it’s been lifted.

Taylor still stares at me, like he’s waiting for something more. I’ve finally said it all, everything I’ve been holding in, and it apparently isn’t enough for my brother. Or maybe he still just doesn’t get it. Maybe he’s waiting for words that make sense to him, but I don’t know how to make things any clearer. I don’t know how to break through the walls Taylor has built around himself and find the actual human being inside.

“Just forget it, Taylor,” I say, sighing.

“I’m not worth all of that,” he finally replies, his voice so soft and weak that it doesn’t sound like my annoying, cocky brother at all.

“No,” I reply. “I guess you’re not. Maybe I’m finally realizing that. I just don’t… I don’t want this anymore, Taylor. I guess I’ve never really been normal, since this has been inside me for years, but at least for a while I managed to pretend that it wasn’t. That I was normal and I could have a normal relationship, a normal marriage. And I want that again, Tay. But wishing to be normal isn’t gonna get me there. It’s not enough.”

“And why do you deserve to be normal?” He asks. “What about me? What if that’s what I want, too?”

I give a little shrug. “I don’t know, Tay. I guess you have to try, too.”

I’m met with another blank stare that tells me just how entitled my brother feels. Or maybe he’s wallowed in being a miserable, horrible person for so long that he can’t even fathom trying to live a better life. Whatever the reason, it’s clear that even if he claims that he wants a normal life, he’s never going to take the necessary steps to have one. 

But I am. And I’m starting right now by refusing to give in to the glimmer of sadness I see in Taylor’s eyes.

“Hey,” Ike calls out, shocking us both when we realize his microphone is on. Oblivious to the conversation we’ve had, he continues, “You guys ready to start on the guitar part for Tragic Symphony?”

Taylor presses the button that allows him to be heard through the partition separating us from the rest of the studio. “Did we ever decide how it was going to go?” 

“Well, we argued about it a hell of lot, so I’d like to think we made some sort of decision after that…” Isaac says, chuckling a little nervously in hopes of defusing the oncoming tension.

Taylor rolls his eyes, but the movement is so subtle that I doubt Isaac even notices. I’m not sure Taylor even realizes he’s doing it. And that basically sums Taylor up, I suppose. Pressing the button again, Taylor replies, “Yeah, alright. We’ll be out in a sec.”

Even though Taylor’s tone is fairly condescending, Isaac seems to have accept what he’s said, giving him a little nod before going back to tuning his guitar. I stare at Taylor, knowing that our conversation isn’t over but not sure where it can go from here. 

“Look, Zac,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’m not a good person. You know that about me, and if I didn’t know that about me, you’re doing a really good job of reminding me. But if just to save our own asses, we _know_ this should be over. If I never do anything else in my life right, maybe I can do that. Maybe I can end this.”

“Maybe,” I reply. “But you tried and I wouldn’t let you. Now… now I’m done. Now _I’m_ telling _you_ that I can’t do this anymore, and I mean it. I’m not going to go around in the same circles over and over again and keep hating you and hating myself.”

Taylor gives me a nod like he understands, but I don’t know if he really does. I feel like I’ve seen a glimpse of a real human being today, a person with actual emotions underneath the hard, empty shell my brother became somewhere along the way. But will that person stick around? I don’t know. I’ve learned not to trust him and not to have any faith in him. I just can’t hang on and hope that he really means any of what he says. I _have_ to give up on him.

Isaac plucks a loud, discordant note to draw our attention, and I know that’s his way of saying we need to stop talking and get down to business. If only he had any idea what we were talking about. Maybe, now that it’s over, I can finally let go of my fear of our relationship being revealed. All I had to do for years was keep my feelings to myself, and I feel confident I can do that again. 

This time, I throw my hand up to let Ike know we heard him. Taylor is out of the room before me, though, no doubt ready to get away from me and all the things I make him think and talk about that he would rather avoid. 

He dives right into discussing the guitar riff for Tragic Symphony, one of the songs we’ve finished this week, with Isaac. I wonder if he knows how much the song reminds me of him. If he had any clue that the lyrics I contributed, the lyrics he’s singing, are about _him_ … but Taylor isn’t that self-aware. He might have acknowledged that he’s a horrible person, but that’s only touching the surface. 

While the two of them fight over a chord change, I feel another song bubbling up inside of me. It’s been months since I’ve felt the music in me so strongly that I just had to write it down, and I didn’t realize how much I missed that feeling. I didn’t realize, until we came here to record, just how empty my life was. No, that’s not entirely true. I had Carrick. I had a lot going for me, more than I had the sense to be grateful for, but I let it all go. Now, at least, I have a chance of getting my music back.

Taylor and Ike don’t even notice when I slip off to grab a notebook and start writing this song down before it leaves me. The words flow easily, the way I remember that they used to flow, back when I lived to write, not the other way around.

Maybe if I get my music back… maybe then I’ll have a hope of getting back the other thing I’ve lost. Carrick.


	84. Home For The Holidays

After nearly another full week in El Paso, I’m only a little closer to feeling like myself again, but we’re a lot closer to having an album finished. 

Once again, all too soon, I’m on another plane. Even though we’ve spent the majority of this year at home, wherever that may be, it feels like I’m constantly getting on a plane for one reason or another, and it’s rarely a reason I’m looking forward to.

This time, it’s because we’re on our way back to Tulsa for Christmas. It isn’t entirely a vacation, though. We’ve resolved to finish the album in the next few weeks. Taylor scheduled some studio time in Los Angeles to record a few horn parts that will finish off some of the songs, and then aside from mixing… it will all be done. We even have tentative plans to film the first music video. It’s all happening so quickly, but it feels right, in a strange way.

Going back to Tulsa, though… that part doesn’t feel so right.

When we land in Tulsa, it’s the same old story. There’s no one there to greet me, and it doesn’t even make me feel better that there’s no one waiting for Taylor, either. His eyes are cold and empty, so I’m not even sure that he cares that he’s all alone. Maybe it’s what he’s wanted this entire time. I just don’t know anymore.

I don’t offer to share a cab or anything with Taylor; we’re not going to the same place, anyway. Since I sold my apartment, and staying with Kate feels just a little bit wrong, I’m spending the holiday with Mom and Dad. It isn’t exactly an ideal plan, but as I hail a cab and give the driver my parents’ new address, I realize that I don’t have any better options right now. 

The twinkle of Christmas lights leading the way up my parents’ driveway reminds me that I ought to be cheerful right now, but I really can’t muster up much cheer. Christmas in California doesn’t feel like Christmas at all, and I think that’s why I wanted to spend my first holiday as a divorcee there. Still, even if the sight of my parents’ Christmas decorations doesn’t cheer me up, it _does_ give me a strange sort of comfort. I’m even close to smiling by the time I finish unloading my suitcase and paying the cab driver. 

Mom is waiting at the door with a cup of hot cocoa, because she has a sixth sense for when one of her children is near and in need of nurturing. She’s off as soon as the mug is in my hand, chattering about how different I look, whether I’m eating enough, what happened to my hair and so on. I don’t even bother trying to follow everything she’s saying; it’s just the typical mom chatter that doesn’t vary whether you’ve been gone a year or just a day.

“Now, you make yourself comfortable in the guest room,” Mom says, showing me to the same room I stayed in at Thanksgiving. “There’s some leftover dinner in the kitchen, and I know you’ve got to be starving. We’re all going to bed soon, but help yourself. Don’t worry about keeping us up if you get a midnight snack.”

“Alright,” I reply, chuckling a little at how like a mother hen she is.

With a strange twinkle in her eye, she adds, “And if anyone else comes, you’ll let them in, won’t you?”

“Umm… sure,” I say. “Are we expecting more company tonight? It’s only Christmas Eve Eve.”

“Well, you never know who might show up at the holidays,” Mom says cryptically, then dashes off before I can even begin to understand what she might mean.

My stomach growls before I can give too much thought to what Mom has said, and so I decide to disregard her words for now and find something to eat. The second floor of the house is quiet, so I creep carefully to the kitchen and find the fixings for a sandwich. It isn’t much, but it’s too late for a big meal. With the plate in hand, I head back downstairs to the room I’m going to call mine for the next few days.

I barely make it to the bottom step before the doorbell rings, a loud, raucous noise that seems to echo through the entire house. It’s surely loud enough to be heard from upstairs, but since I’m already here, it just makes sense for me to answer it, even if I have no clue who it might be. I set my plate on the coffee table in the foyer before unlocking and opening the door… only to see Carrick standing on the other side of it.

“I… I don’t… what?” I manage to stutter out, barely even conscious of the fact that I’m letting brisk winter air in the house and leaving my—assuming that’s what he still is—boyfriend standing on the front step.

Carrick gives an exaggerated shiver. “Can you just let me in? Then we’ll talk.”

I nod dumbly and step back to let him in. Feeling properly chastised for leaving him in the cold, however briefly, I grab the suitcase from his hand and carry it to the guest room I assume we will be sharing. And that raises another question. 

“Did my parents know about this?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I called your mom after I booked my flight. I probably should have called her _before_ , but it was an impulsive decision. The right one, I hope.”

“You didn’t even answer my text, but you called my mom?” I ask, hating how blunt and petty I sound.

I’m not angry with him; at least, I hadn’t been. With all the work we’ve been putting into getting this album done, I haven’t had a lot of time to stew about the fact that Carrick didn’t answer my drunken text that one night. He had promised to talk to me when I needed him, but he didn’t keep that promise. And that hurts more than I had time to realize until this very moment.

Carrick sinks onto the bed we shared so unhappily a month ago and nods his head sadly. “I did. And I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t have a good excuse for that, Zac. Except that, well, I could tell you were drunk. And I didn’t know what good could come from a conversation right then. And you know how sometimes you feel so guilty for something you’ve done—or not done—that you can’t bring yourself to fix it? That’s how I felt.”

“What changed?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I just stewed for long enough, and finally realized one of us had to do something. So here I am. To hand deliver the first pressing, as it were, of From The Dust to my new record label. And help you survive Christmas, hopefully without a repeat of Thanksgiving’s events.”

“I don’t deserve that,” I say, nearly echoing Taylor’s words to me just a few days ago. 

“I don’t think it’s up to you to decide that.”

Deciding to change the subject, I say, “So your album is done? Ours might be… soon. They’re already planning a trip to LA to record some horn parts.”

“Will they stay at your place?” Carrick asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “We haven’t talked about that.”

“More importantly, have you talked about the horrible accident your hair was in?”

It takes a moment for the joke to register, and then I laugh. Loudly. And then laugh more. Whatever anger I felt at Carrick has been completely quashed by his apology and that question. He gives me a genuine smile and I know then that my Carrick is back. Whether he’s going to stay… well, I can’t predict the future. But I’m feeling a lot more hopeful about it right now.

“That was… that was the night I texted you,” I finally manage to say in between laughs. My tone sobers a bit as I remember the night in detail. “It wasn’t… a very good night. You don’t want to hear about it.”

“Not unless you want to talk about it. Or need to talk about it.”

I sigh and take a seat next to him. “We were all drinking. And Taylor was… well, I don’t know what he was really angling at, you know? He was just being Taylor, and he kept playing with my hair while we talked. And I kept—not turning him down, really, because he never outright propositioned me. But he obviously wanted _something_. Once the whole conversation was over, I needed a few more drinks, and I guess I had too many, because I ended up cuddling with the toilet. And when I was done… between the chunks in my hair and the memory of Taylor touching it, I just couldn’t take it any longer. So I found a pair of scissors, and gave myself this stylish little cut.”

“You look like you got into a fight with a weedeater,” Carrick says. “But it’ll grow. The hair isn’t really the big problem here, is it?”

“No,” I reply. “It’s Taylor. But I think… well, I finally gave him a piece of my mind. Whether he’s really out of my hair, figuratively speaking, I don’t know yet. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“No, we won’t,” Carrick says. “I mean, it’s about your actions, not your hopes and wishes. You have to stick to that conviction that things between you and Taylor are over. You have to act on it.”

“Telling him it’s over was the first action,” I reply. “Although I don’t know how to convince you that I really mean it.”

“I’ll see it in time,” he replies. Ever so slightly, he leans against me, and it’s more of a reassurance than he probably means for it to be. Even when I’m not so sure that he believes in me, he gives me so much strength just by existing and being here by my side. 

“Thank you for coming out here,” I say.

“What else could I do?” Carrick asks. “I can’t just… deny you and take my love away from you because I’m frustrated with you. I know you’re always going to feel something for Taylor, something probably even stronger than what you feel for me. And I… well, I haven’t accepted it yet, not fully. But I’m getting there. All I can ask is that you try your best to fight that feeling.”

“I can do that,” I reply softly but firmly. “I am doing that. I’m doing the best I can.”

Carrick nods. “I know you are. But you know what you’re not doing?”

Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “What am I not doing?”

“Eating that sandwich I saw sitting in the other room. I assume that was yours…?”

“It was,” I reply, smirking a little. “And how dare you interrupt my dinner. I have half a mind to offer you a sandwich, too.”

“After a meal of water and pretzels on the plane, that’s an offer I can’t really refuse,” he says, then stands up. 

“Come on, let’s see what you’ve got around here for a vegetarian to eat.”

I take Carrick’s hand in mine, and after a quick detour to rescue my sandwich from the foyer, we head upstairs to track down something plant-based. I still don’t know what the future holds, but with Carrick’s warm hand in mine, I feel a lot better about facing it down.

“Hey, Carrick,” I say as we reach the landing.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Do you think… I mean, maybe it’s too soon to ask this, but are we okay?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, “I think we still have a ways to go and a lot of work to do. But it’s work that maybe we can only do together. I can’t… it isn’t fair to leave you to suffer through this alone, so I’m not going to. Not any longer. So whatever happens, yeah, we’ll be together for it. Is that a good enough answer?”

“Yeah,” I reply honestly. “It is.”

And it is. It really, truly is. It’s better than I deserve and more than I hoped for.


	85. Family Ties

No matter how much I might want to, I can’t hide in the guest room all day the next day. Christmas Eve is too much of an event in the Hanson household for anyone to get away with not joining in the festivities. Even if Mom hadn’t rapped cheerfully on the door to let us know that breakfast was ready, the smell of food would have woken at least me. 

Breakfast is too boring and ordinary of a word to describe the first meal of Christmas Eve in the Hanson house, though. The meal gets a little forgotten in the rush to finish all the preparations for dinner, so while Mom is waiting for this or that to cook, Dad takes over and fixes the one thing he can reliably make—French toast. It’s the one time a year that he fixes it, and it’s well worth the wait. Between that, the ever present hot cocoa, and—if you’re lucky—a few warm cookies fresh out of the oven, Christmas Eve breakfast is the best meal of the year in my family, if you ask me. Even at twenty seven years old, I can think of few things that beat it.

Then Carrick walks in the door, hair sticking up at weird angles and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and I think of one thing that just might rival this meal for my favorite thing ever.

“Oh, Carrick,” Dad says, spinning around to see who has arrived, spatula still in his hand. “I completely forgot; I don’t suppose you can have any of my famous French toast.”

Carrick looks confused for a moment, then smiles easily. “Oh, no, Mr. Ha—Walker. I’m just vegetarian, not vegan. The eggs are no problem.”

Dad waves his spatula a bit dismissively, but he’s still smiling as well. “I can never keep up with all these diets. No offense, of course. Kate’s always trying all sorts of fad diets, isn’t she, Zac? I think she’s gone gluten free now. And of course, Natalie has to be careful about sugar now…”

He trails off then, seeming to realize the awkwardness in talking about my ex-wife and Taylor’s estranged one. Carrick is still smiling, though, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. I suppose it will always be like this; there will always be big, awkward elephants in the room for us to keep stepping around. Maybe someday the entire family will learn how to deal with all of these changes, but it hasn’t happened yet. 

Moments later, the awkwardness is subdued by the first heaping plate of French toast, which Carrick and I divide up between us. We sit the small kitchen table, the spot that Mom cheerfully calls her “breakfast nook,” and eat said breakfast like we’re a real family. I suppose we are. It’s strange, but it feels right.

By the time we finish our breakfast and we’re rinsing off the dishes, the oven timer begins to beep loudly. Mom rushes into the room from god knows where, barely skidding to a stop before running over Carrick on her way to save whatever it is she’s already cooking from being burnt to a crisp.

“Oh, I should have known you boys were lured by the siren call of Walk’s French toast,” she teases. “But that’s enough; you’re officially banned from the kitchen until I’m done.”

“Aww, Mom,” I fake whine, causing her to laugh.

“Oh, go on,” she says, slapping me lightly with a dish towel. “If I give you boys a job to do today, will it get you out of my hair and keep you out of it?”

Rather than point out the fact that us _boys_ are actually full grown men, one of us in his mid-thirties, I just chuckle. “Sure, Mom. What do you need? Last minute present run? Someone to drink all the eggnog?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just keep an eye on the door, alright? Greet the guests. Pretend to be a normal human being with good manners.”

“Gee, that’ll be tough… I don’t know if I can do it…”

Before she can smack me with the towel again, I’m out of the room, dragging Carrick behind me.

“I love your parents,” Carrick remarks as I drag him down the stairs and back into the guest room. 

I shake my head and push him into the room, closing the door behind us. “My parents are nuts. At least they seem to like you, though.”

“Were you worried that they wouldn’t?” He asks, not really seeming all that concerned, as he digs through his suitcase for something suitable to wear for Christmas Eve.

“I guess I was,” I reply, pulling out my own suitcase. “But not really. I mean, they always have liked you. But liking you as one of my weird musician friends and liking you as my boyfriend… those are two very different things. And when Dad started talking about Kate and Natalie…”

Carrick shrugs. “He was just making small talk. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“He probably didn’t, but it’s just all so weird… weirder than they know, really. I guess I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he replies. A pair of boxers, dark jeans and a sweater I didn’t even know he owned folder over his arm, he leans in and gives me a quick kiss. “But I’m going to go shower and make myself presentable before we start doing our assigned duty. You should do the same. I would ask you to join me, but… well, I think we’ve defiled your parents’ home enough.”

The fact that Carrick can even joke about that shows just how far we’ve come in a month. It’s hard to believe that we’re okay now… but I think we are. I don’t really want to think about that very much, for fear of jinxing it somehow. Instead, I just pull out the notebook I packed and work on some lyrics while I wait for Carrick to finish his shower. 

Once we’re both as clean and presentable as we’re going to get, we take up our posts by the door. The foyer is big enough to be considered a den by itself, although it lacks a television or any other form of entertainment. That’s alright, though; we’ve got each other for company, as well as the constant parade of relatives. 

Isaac and Nikki, along with their two kids, are some of the first to arrive, their arms loaded down with presents. Ike dumps his armful of packages quickly and pulls me into his arms like he didn’t see me just the day before. 

“Ike,” I gasp out, surprised and a little bit strangled by his hug. “Ike, seriously dude.”

He pulls back and chuckles softly. “Sorry, it’s just… well, sorry. Is Mom busy?”

“Of course she’s busy,” I reply, smiling at the look on Ike’s face. If I’m not mistaken… it’s pride. “But go on. We’ll carry the presents up for you.”

Once they have my permission, as it were, Ike and the boys are off like a shot, all chattering about gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies. Nikki lingers a bit longer, looking like she wants to say something to me or Carrick or both, but like she isn’t quite sure if she should. 

“You don’t have to carry all of those,” she finally says, and the look on her face tells me that wasn’t the statement she was mulling over. Like everyone else, I guess, she doesn’t know how to deal with this relationship, even if she doesn’t necessarily disapprove of it. 

“It’s no problem,” I reply, giving her a smile that I hope implies that I understand everything she’s trying to say.

Carrick snatches up the pile of boxes next to me. “Here, I’ll get these. You stay here and guard the door or whatever.”

That seems like a reasonable idea, even though I really want to protest. But I don’t. I let Nikki and Carrick walk off, talking softly and no doubt about me. What else could they have to talk about after all? I want to be a little upset by that, but why should I be? It’s not like I have any reason to be jealous. In fact, it’s a good thing that they seem to be bonding already. At least most of my extended family likes and accepts Carrick...

The doorbell rings again and jars me out of my thoughts. Of course it’s not going to stop ringing all day. Without looking in the peephole, I fling the door open, and find myself nearly knocked over by a miniature parade of Taylor’s children. I brace myself for the sight of him trailing behind them, but instead, I’m greeted by the much shorter, but still imposing, figure of his wife. Or whatever she is. 

“Natalie.”

“Zachary,” she shoots back. “Don’t get your panties in a wad; I’m just dropping off the kids.”

“What are… I mean, why would you even…”

“What, show my face here?” She asks, then laughs. The kids are all in the house, not near enough to overhear anything they shouldn’t hear from this conversation, and I know that means Nat won’t feel any need to hold back. “Believe it or not, I’m still welcome here. Only the three of us know everything that happened, and if you have any sense, you’ll keep it that way.”

I laugh a little in spite of myself. “Now you’re threatening me to keep me quiet, rather than threatening to tell my secrets. That’s an interesting change.”

“We _all_ have secrets, Zachary. Don’t think you’re special.”

I don’t have any sort of witty reply for that, but I’m saved from having to reply when I hear footsteps on the stairs. It’s Carrick and Nikki, back to get the rest of the gifts. Nikki barely even glances Natalie’s way, a tight smile on her lips to match the curious smirk on Natalie’s. 

And Carrick… well, he’s by my side in an instant, a hand placed low on my back to keep me standing. He doesn’t even bother to fake a smile as he stares Natalie down. 

“Carrick,” she says. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Neither did I,” he replies, much to her confusion. “Didn’t really expect to see you here, though.”

“As I just told your little boyfriend, I’m only dropping off the kids. And since that’s done, I’ll be on my way.” As a bit of an afterthought, her tone making it obvious that it’s only a formality that she doesn’t even mean, she adds, “Tell everyone I said hello.”

She turns and walks away then, and I quickly shut the door behind her. The three of us glance at each other, all silent. What can we really say after that? Nikki and Natalie have never been friends; that’s no secret. But of course, she doesn’t know all the other secrets that colored that conversation. Secrets that it seems Natalie is now intent on keeping, which is just fine by me.

Minutes later, all the presents are deposited under the tree and we’ve been given a brief reprieve from door duty. I collapse into a large chair and Carrick falls into it next to me; it’s thankfully large enough that he’s not actually sitting in my lap. Not that I would mind that, but I’m not sure my family is really ready for that, even if they are being pretty awesome about our relationship.

“So…” I say softly. “That was really weird.”

“What did she even say to you?” Carrick asks.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I reply. “But apparently… we’re in the clear. I guess she and Taylor have so much dirt on each other that they’re just living in fear of the floodgates being opened and all their—and my—dirty laundry being aired. It’s a shitty way to live, but it works out well for me, I guess.”

Carrick nods. “I guess it does. It could have worked out a lot worse, huh?”

“Yeah,” I reply, leaning my head against his shoulder and sighing happily.

It definitely could have worked out a lot worse.


	86. Cards On The Table

Miraculously, I survive Christmas in Tulsa with my family, and my reward for that is New Years in Los Angeles with Carrick. With blankets and light jackets, we sneak onto what’s probably a private beach and watch as people set off fireworks across the water. This is it. This is our new beginning, our chance to finally get things right and make this year so, so much better than the last. I’ve always put a lot of stock, maybe too much, in the blank slate that is a new year, but this time I really believe in it, more than I ever have before. This really is our time now.

A little over a week has passed since then, and I’ve still barely returned back to Earth. The only thing bringing me back down is the fact that my brothers are here now. We’re in the final stretch of recording, pushing ourselves as hard as we possibly can. We’ve never set a hard deadline before, at least not since we started working for ourselves, but we have a videoshoot scheduled for tomorrow and we decided it would be nice if we had a finished song for it.

And because I’m far too nice of a person, I offered to let them both stay here while we record.

“So,” Isaac says, setting his beer down on my coffee table. “Where’s Carrick? He hasn’t been around much since we got here.”

It’s true that he hasn’t, but I suppose my brothers don’t know that I’ve been talking to him every night before I go to bed. The two of them are crashed out on my living room floor, since Shep and Junia’s beds aren’t exactly their size, and tonight we’re having a late dinner of pizza and beer before we have to go to sleep and wake up early for the videoshoot. Carrick is going to be part of the video, though, but the day that we decided that was the last day I saw him in person. Of course, I can’t explain to Isaac why it’s so awkward for Carrick to be here right now.

“Well, you’ll see him tomorrow,” I reply, shooting a look at Taylor as if to warn him that tomorrow better go well. If he causes a scene, especially in front of all the fans we’ve asked to be extras in the video, I’ll never forgive him.

Taylor blinks at me a few times, and I’m not sure if he gets the warning in my expression or not. Hopefully he does, but I’ve learned not to expect anything at all from him.

Before we can continue that conversation, the doorbell rings. I have a feeling that I know who it is, but then again, that might just be wishful thinking. When I reach the door and open it, my wish comes true. Looking just a little bit sheepish, Carrick is standing there with a big, foil-covered plate in his hands.

“Hey,” I say, pulling him into the room and pressing a quick, hopefully discreet, kiss to his cheek. “What are you doing here? I mean, not that I mind. I just didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

He shrugs. “Wanted to see you. Plus, I had this batch of special brownies, and it just seemed like a shame not to share them with you all…”

“Did someone say special brownies?” Isaac asks. 

“You heard that correctly,” Carrick replies, giving Ike a wide grin as he sits down at the coffee table, as far from Taylor as possible. I don’t blame him for that.

The question is, where do I sit? I stare at them all for a moment, weighing my options. Finally, I decide that I’m being really dumb. Of course the answer is to sit next to my boyfriend, and so that’s exactly what I do. He gives my knee a little squeeze once I get situated in the floor next to him, and that’s all the reassurance I need that it’s stupid to act like we aren’t together. Of course my brothers know, and only one of them has a genuine reason to have a problem with it. And if he does… well, it’s too late for it to matter anyway.

Tomorrow is still a huge hurdle to overcome, but right now I’m happy just to sit here and cuddle up with my boyfriend. I’m happy not to feel like I’m hiding or doing something wrong. I’m just _happy_ , and I haven’t even had a brownie yet.

As Carrick passes said brownies around, Isaac tries to keep the conversation going, making small talk about our collective new albums, plans for the videoshoot, promotions we have coming up—basically anything he can think of besides the elephant in the room. I’ve never liked my oldest brother more than I do right now. When and how he decided to be so supportive, I don’t know, but I’m just glad that he did. At least one of my brothers is making my life a little easier.

And the other one? He’s just sitting there eating his brownie and sipping his beer in silence, which is probably the best I can hope for from him.

“Does anybody else need another beer?” I ask. I’m not really looking for an excuse to leave the room, because things are going pretty well, but I figure I might as well at least try to be a good host.

Carrick and Ike say yes, while Taylor mumbles something that I assume is no. With that as settled as it’s going to be, I stand up and walk to the kitchen to retrieve a few more beers for all of us. 

Maybe I’m still being paranoid and overdramatic, but things really are going well. There’s no reason for me to stay on edge, waiting for everything to go wrong. I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to anything resembling normal, if we ever were that, but we’re at least all capable of being in the same room now. That’s progress. The fact that I don’t really even want to kill or maim Taylor is progress, too. 

Speak of the devil…

He pads into the room and steps up to the refrigerator, reaching around me to grab a beer. With the tiniest of smiles, he says, “I changed my mind.”

“Good for you,” I reply. It comes out a little ruder than I intend, but it’s too late to take it back, and trying to apologize would just prolong the conversation.

“Are we okay?” He asks, leaning against the counter. “Maybe that’s a dumb question, after everything, but… are we ever going to be okay?”

“I don’t know, Taylor,” I reply honestly. “We’re as close as we can hope to be right now, I think. If you can keep from being an asshole, we’ll be fine.”

“I’m not trying to be a…” He sighs, obviously thinking better of arguing that point. “It’s just, we’ve got a lot riding on this album, you know? More than we’ve had for a while. I don’t want this shit between us, which I know I made worse, to ruin that.”

“Yeah, well, somebody gave me some good advice not long ago. It’s not about what you want to happen; it’s about what you actually do to make that happen or not happen. Actions are what matter, Taylor. And yours… well, I think by now you know how I feel about yours.”

He nods, but I’m not so sure that he understands. The good news is that Taylor can convince himself of just about anything, and if he’s decided to be happy and move on from all that happened between us last year, then that’s what he’ll do. It’s certainly what I’m going to do, but I’ve got a hell of a lot more to be happy about than he does. That thought causes a sharp little pain where I suppose my heart is, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t make Taylor happy; he’s long since proven that he won’t let me. All I can do is make _me_ happy—and Carrick, too, of course.

“We’re getting thirsty in here!” Ike calls out, effectively ruining any sort of bittersweet, meaningful moment Taylor and I might be having. I wouldn’t expect anything else from my dear, oldest brother.

Taylor takes a few of the beers from me, lightening my load a bit. It’s a small gesture, but it means more than it probably should. Of course, I’m not reading anything really deep into it, because I know better now than to hope for anything from Taylor. But at least we can be civil. That’s definitely more than I’ve hoped for lately.

After handing out the beers, I sit down just a little bit closer to Carrick than I was before. It’s not much of a difference, but it’s enough to matter to me and to him. It’s enough to attract Taylor’s attention, too, and I could swear he looks jealous. I’m not sure if that means he’s jealous of Carrick or if he’s just jealous of what we have… what I don’t suppose he’ll ever have with Natalie, even though they’ll never divorce.

Again, I feel that ache in my chest, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

“So, are you guys ready for the videoshoot?” Carrick asks.

A chorus of “no” rings out in answer, and then we all laugh, while Carrick looks a little bit horrified. 

“Well, what can possibly go wrong, then?” Carrick laughs a little nervously.

“It’s been a long ass time,” Ike says. “And I haven’t even had as eventful of a year as these two. I think we’re all… well, I don’t know. I can’t speak for Tay or Zac. But I’m scared as hell to get back out there.”

“I’m just ready to get back to it,” Tay says softly, and for once, I actually believe him. I suppose he does need the escape.

I nod. “I am, too. I know that moving out here… it’s going to change things. It already has. But you guys know I never meant to quit the band. I never wanted things to end just like that. I’ve missed the music.”

“I know,” Isaac replies. He shoots a quick glance at Taylor before continuing, “We both know that. And I think—I hope—we’re going to be even stronger now. I think we’ve come a long way this past year… maybe some of us more than others, but we’ve still become a better, stronger band for it all.”

He shoots me a meaningful look then, and I wonder once again when he became so proud of me. He doesn’t even know the half of what I’ve been through; if he did, I don’t think he would be nearly as proud. Then again, maybe he would realize that I’ve survived even more over the last seven or eight months than he knew and he would be even more proud of me. Sometimes even I’m shocked that I haven’t gone completely insane by now. 

But I haven’t. I’m still here, still hanging on to whatever shred of sanity I started with. It might not be much, but it’s mine, and I’m going to cling to it with all my might.

“Amen to that,” Taylor replies, giving me a little smirk that I can’t quite interpret. Raising his bottle, he adds, “And cheers to getting album number six done!”

We all clink our bottles together and cheer, because god knows it has been a long ride, and I don’t think any of us knew for sure that we would get to the end of it. I’m not just talking about the album, either; the only one of us here who might be is good old, oblivious Isaac. 

“Here’s to tomorrow!” Ike adds. 

“And every day after that,” Carrick adds softly, squeezing my knee. 

God knows what all of those days might hold, but for once, I’m not scared to think about it.


	87. Already Home

“Alright, guys!” Our manager calls out, poking his head into the green room. “Soundcheck in five.”

I groan, not moving from my position on the couch, where my legs are draped across Carrick’s lap. It’s not that I’m not excited about the first concert of the Anthem tour, because I am. Sure, we’ve played a lot of promo and even a few full concerts over the spring as we geared up for the album release. We haven’t had that many full band shows, though, and none yet with Everybody Else opening for us. Still, it feels like we’ve already been on tour for a while. It’s just that right now, laying here with my boyfriend sounds a whole lot more fun than rehashing the setlist again and playing Get The Girl Back a dozen times before we get it right.

“Go on,” Carrick says, chuckling. “I’ll be here when you guys are done.”

“But why can’t _I_ be here with you right now?” I whine.

He chuckles more. “The concert isn’t that long.”

“Yeah, but…” I dial the whine up to eleven. “After that we’ll be crammed in that tiny little bunk, and we can’t even _do_ anything there. I miss our bed.”

 _Our bed._ After fighting me on the very notion of moving to California, Carrick finally gave in a month ago and moved into a larger condo, just down the road from my old one, with me. It’s nearly identical to the old one, but has three bedrooms so that Shep and Junia don’t have to share. But the best part is that Carrick is sharing with me.

“Luckily, we do get to stay in hotels every now and then,” Carrick remarks, then pats my leg reassuringly. “We’ll get to be together plenty during the tour, Zac. And afterward.”

“Forever?” I ask.

“Forever,” he repeats, patting my knee. 

The door opens again, and Taylor walks in. He barely even pauses to look at us before grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler under the craft services table. Some days I still don’t know what to make of Taylor’s behavior, but I’m used to that. I’ve always been used to that. Every now and then I see another flash of something like jealousy in his eyes, but most of the time I’m not sure he even notices that I’m here. I think I actually like the latter better. 

Unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and taking a drink, he finally turns back to face us. He gives a long, satisfied sigh like he just ran a mile or had marathon sex. I guess everything he does just seems erotic. I try to ignore those things, but it never really works. 

“Come on, Zac,” he says, like he’s finally noticed that I’m in the room. “We’ve been looking for you. Did you ever figure out what your solo is going to be tonight?”

“I was thinking On and On,” I reply. I don’t know if Carrick knows for sure, but I wrote the song about him. He probably knows; he’s smart like that.

“Sounds good,” Taylor replies, nodding. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second,” I reply.

Taylor seems to accept that, walking out of the room without another word. I give Carrick another pout, and he just shakes his head. 

“Think you’ll be alright without me?” I ask teasingly.

“Think _you_ will?” He shoots back, but coming from him, it’s a little more of a serious question.

“Yeah,” I reply, looking at the door Taylor has so recently walked out. “I think I just might be.”

Things between Taylor and I… well, I don’t suppose they ever have been or ever will be normal. But we’re getting there. I may never have any clue what he actually feels for me, but that’s okay. I don’t need to know. I might be tempted by him occasionally—a feeling that Carrick knows about and swears he’d forgive me for if I gave into—but I really don’t _need_ him. Everything I need, I’ve already got. 

I have my music, which was never really gone in the first place. 

I have my children, the wonderful product of a marriage that probably shouldn’t have happened in the first place, except to bless us with said children.

I have my fans, who I know are waiting impatiently outside the venue to see what we have to offer them after our long break. Some of them know, or at least think they know, about all the changes in my life. If they’re judging me for it, I don’t know and I don’t care. The divorce is public knowledge, of course, but I’ve made a point of not officially coming out. Some things just need to stay secret, not because I’m ashamed of them but because I just want them to stay mine.

And I have Carrick. The one I took for granted for so long while I stayed with someone who was better as a friend and pined after someone I never should have wanted. Finally, I’m done denying what I feel for him. While my feelings for Taylor might never truly go away, it’s my feelings for Carrick that matter now. It’s the love Carrick and I share that really matters, and it’s the only love I need.


End file.
